


a fire made from coals of regret

by themikeymonster



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arc Reactor, Civil War Team Iron Man, Extremis, M/M, OH THE YEARS START COMING AND THEY DON'T STOP COMING, Panic Attacks, Self-cest, They're Both MCU!Tony, Time Travel Fix-It, Yinsen Is So Tired of Tony Stark, so much ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themikeymonster/pseuds/themikeymonster
Summary: Tony isn't a damsel in distress. He can rescue himself just fine. It's a bit weird when the self saving him isn't from this timeline, though.Or: Tony from the bad Infinity War timeline ends up rescuing himself from that cold, dark cave in Afghanistan. IM1!Tony comes to understand Happy and Rhodey's perspectives a lot better. It's the actual worst.--"Forgive me, Sir," JARVIS intones, sounding a bit confused. "I was not aware of the intruder until this moment. Shall I inform the authorities?""No. No, no, no - god no. That would be awkward to explain," Tony says, waving his AI off."Come on, be nice to JARVIS," the looming armor says, mechanical, just the slightest pitch of dry reproach in the words. "He's doing his best with the half-assed programming job you did. He's barely even sophisticated enough to be security at this point.





	1. sink or swim

**Author's Note:**

> While I fully intend for this to eventually become tonycest sundae with a bucky on top, let's try to make this tonycest first and see where it goes. there's still all this stuff with pepper to sort out, and then everything else that's ever happened in the MCU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Oh god," he says faintly, "Did we get a redemption arc?"_
> 
> _The dirty look that not-Tony levels at him says it all._
> 
> _"We got a redemption arc," Tony confirms, surprised._  
>  \--  
> getting a visit from your future self doesn't always herald death and destruction, but Tony's not that lucky.

* * *

 

They always said that an endless supply of news from around the world would make anyone paranoid and depressed, but jokes on them: it's not the news that's making Tony paranoid and depressed.

'Depressed' is wrong, actually. What does he even have to be depressed about? It's not _his_ life that has been ruined. He's not _depressed._ It's too tight - too uneasy of a feeling. His chest has continued to feel like it's collapsing in on itself for months now, like a black hole sucking everything into that singular point of incredible crushing gravity, but he'd thought that had been due to the structural damage - 'structural damage.' So much easier to think of it that way, instead of his own body in _ruins._

It's not the structural damage, though. After his stint with the emergency medical professionals who were thankfully able to dose him up on anesthetics for his mutilated rib cage - he knows _that_ isn't what is causing this awful crushing feeling of impending doom.

The signs in the news are subtle - surprisingly so - but Tony knows what it is he's looking for: explosions in remote locations leading to the capture of known terrorists across the globe. Each report - a new point in a string of 'counterterrorist' events, as the news has taken to calling them - adds yet more weight, cinches his chest tighter, tips the workshop one step closer to being trashed. Never before has Tony been so grateful that he's never done serious Stark Industries work here in Malibu. No - all his weapons had been designed at the SI Headquarters lab, with a team to cover the little details that Tony couldn't be bothered with.

The news clicks over to yet another discussion panel featuring Tony's announcement, made a week previous, and Tony rubs at his aching, burning eyes, looking around for his tumbler. Just as he finds it, his fingers closing around it, something awful announces itself: "you sure know how to paint a target on your back."

The tumbler crashes to the ground in a shower of whiskey and glass. "Jesus!" Tony shouts, a hot slice of something nearly molten cutting through him: fury and fear, both. He has the worktable between himself and the doorway before shame catches up to him, his hands shaking violent and his heart throbbing against his ruined ribs, pulsing against the magnet in his chest. He can't quite look at the doorway. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Sir?"

Shame morphs to fury and back to shame again before he can do more than grimace. Tony gestures widely at the uninvited guest in the doorway. "Care to explain this?"

"Forgive me, Sir," JARVIS intones, sounding a bit confused. "I was not aware of the intruder until this moment. Shall I inform the authorities?"

"No. No, no, no - god no. That would be awkward to explain," Tony says, waving his AI off. "Look at this," he adds to his guest, still not able to look directly at him. "Look at what you made me do. You wanna clean this up?"

"Come on, be nice to JARVIS," the looming armor says, mechanical, just the slightest pitch of dry reproach in the words. "He's doing his best with the half-assed programming job you did. He's barely even sophisticated enough to be security at this point." The broken tumbler of whiskey goes completely ignored.

"Sorry; are you here for a reason, or is this just some kind of - awful, masochistic nightmare I'm having?" Tony demands. He doesn't wait for an answer, gesturing sharply. "And could you get - get out of that armor? I have a heart condition, you know. Of course, you know. Come on. _Out._ "

It comes out too sharp, just short of shouting, frustration and despair chasing each other through his head like an obnoxious crowd of screaming paparazzi. He feels like he's spinning wildly out of control, like nothing is going the way it should, like everything is slipping through his fingers as if he's trying to grasp handfuls of liquid mercury, like he'd be killing himself if he could grab hold but can't stop trying as he fails, fails, and fails some more.

The armor cocks its head. Then it begins to fold back.

It's not the first time that Tony's seen this happen, but he is in a slightly safer position to actually watch it happen. It looks like something that should be in some sci-fi movie special effects, but - _better,_ honestly. It's real, for one, and not just wistful daydreams. It is to the armor he'd spent months building like a water wheel is to a personal phone. It's awesome - heavy on the 'awe.'

The weirdest part of it is watching _himself_ step out of the shiny, futuristic armor.

For a given value of 'himself'. Tony certainly hadn't recognized the man as such back in Afghanistan, in that cave, when the armor first pried open the doors and the face mask pulled back. _Yinsen_ had. In Tony's defense, no one ever expects to come face to face with themselves except in a fever dream, and - well. The man in the armor isn't perfectly Tony Stark, either.

"I know about the heart condition," he says blandly, clasping his hands together and smiling thinly at Tony. "I have one, too, after all."

Tony's eyes immediately drop toward his chest, although it's a futile effort. His not-doppelganger is wearing some kind of specialized suit, surprisingly loose given the mechanics of the armor. His chest seems smooth enough, but after seeing the armor he pilots, Tony doesn't think that means much of anything at all. "Great," he says sharply, "then if you could do less creeping around, that would be just. Fantastic."

The thin not-smile on not-Tony's face stretches wide and knowing. "Fine, fine," he agrees. "So here I am. This is me, not creeping." He splays his hands wide open: _nothing to hide here._ Tony doesn't believe it - no, he _does,_ actually, he does believe that somehow, not-Tony believes this is not sneaking around, but the jackass broke into Tony's home and bypassed his security and - Tony really, really hates the idea of that. He hates the way his back feels bare and wide open with a target on it, just like not-Tony said.

He shouldn't be surprised that not-Tony seems to read all of this off him at once, sobering, but he is - surprised it's noticed, surprised it's taken seriously. Before he can get around to whatever reason it was he decided to drop by Malibu and see Tony for in the first place, Tony turns sharply. "You want to explain something to me?" he demands, jabbing his finger at the television display. "JARVIS. The Detour files."

The silenced news feed cuts away to display the various pictures they've pulled off the internet of the various 'mysterious' counterterrorist events. The number is - alarming. Watching them all go up, picture after picture after picture, a wide mosaic of destruction - although not death, or not entirely death - cinches Tony's chest tighter and tighter and tighter. His heart throbs. He counts his heartbeats by the way it thumps against the casing, his breath still so shallow and pressed.

He's trembling. No matter how hard he wraps his arms around himself, or grabs onto his chin, or presses his toes and heels into the floor, he can't stop shaking, and then he looks to not-Tony. Not-Tony stands, loose and relaxed, his dark eyes almost glassy, blank, giving nothing away. Harsh brown and blue light from the pictures flickers over his features, as familiar to Tony as the back of his hand, but - odd. Almost unnaturally sharp, unnaturally clean. The only thing that disrupts the smooth plane of his face is the beard - a variation to Tony's own - and the crows feet at the corner of his eyes.

"Well," Not-Tony says, dropping his gaze and stepping sideways, something Tony thinks would be shame if he tried it and on not-Tony instead looks more like: _we're sorry for your loss,_ "whatever you're thinking, you're probably right."

Of course Tony is right. Tony's always right about the things he would like least to be right about. There are only so many reasons Tony can think of as to why he - even a him from another universe, or whatever not-Tony is - would go gallivanting across the globe, blowing up remote locations where _terrorists_ are hiding. His hands shake. _He_ would have killed them himself, he thinks - not left them contained for the authorities.

"You should probably sit down," Not-Tony adds, finally looking at him with a dark gaze that looks straight through him - something kind of like sympathy. The urge to spit in his face is almost irresistible, but the shame - the need to maintain control - is stronger.

"Okay," Tony says instead, sounding mild and almost meek to his own ears, and goes to sit at the bench next to the worktable. Not-Tony circles, keeping the table between them - more out of consideration for Tony than his own comfort, Tony thinks. There's no reason for Not-Tony to be scared of him, or even concerned at all. Given the G's that would be involved in the suit, _Tony_ is the vulnerable one here. If he even thinks about trying to tackle not-Tony, it'll probably wrench his chest open and lay him out on the floor - never mind that it would only take one good, solid punch to his ribs, any part of his ribs, to put him in the hospital again.

Judging by not-Tony's biceps, he's more than capable of delivering a punch that strong.

 _God,_ look at him: not-Tony has been practically screaming non-threatening at him since he came out of the armor. He keeps his gaze from being too direct or confrontational, keeps his head slightly tilted away, his shoulders down and rounded, his spine loose, his feet always offset to give him an unbalanced stance. Tony's not sure if that's in consideration for the wild way his emotions are rocking, or if it's some kind of trick.

Tony would love to loosen up his own body and at least give the faint suggestion of the impression that he's not about to shatter into a million pieces. "Alright," he says. "I'm sitting." He watches not-Tony, who should have had this presentation prepared for him for some time, but instead he continues to hesitate. If it were possible, Tony would feel more panicked by this than he already does - it's never good when he can't find the words to explain himself.

Not-Tony doesn't really need to, though. Tony has had a month to churn over his presence here and all that it implies. Pair and combine with the actions not-Tony has taken and -

"Alright, look," Tony says, too brittle, when no immediate explanation is forthcoming, "I've already figured out that the future is shit or you wouldn't be here. So just." He tries for a moment for bravado, already only too aware that not-Tony will see through it before he even tries. "Come on. Lay it on me. I mean, it can't be worse than what I've been thinking up." He manages to curl his mouth into a smirk. Same heart condition. Same brain. Not-Tony will understand.

Not-Tony looks at him like he's a misbehaving teenager, which is about the strangest expression that Tony's ever seen on his own face, and he still doesn't answer. Which is the frightening part, the part that drives Tony up off the stool at the worktable and straight into pacing.

"Okay," he says, stopping two and a half turns in when it'll start to look manic, bracing his hands on his hips and squaring his shoulders. His chest aches sharply and Tony aborts trying to stick it out like an over-proud rooster, shifts to cover for the weakness. "What are we looking at? The End of the world?" He smirks, thin and sharp and almost mocking.

Not-Tony doesn't bite, of course - of course, he sees right through Tony, of course he does. God. He doesn't even look Tony in the eye, focused instead on the gaping hole in the middle of Tony's chest. "Yes, actually," he says, mild and bland and almost bored - _so he's terrified, too, good. Amazing._ Not-Tony is looking directly at the arc reactor, hidden away beneath Tony's clothes. It's the same one that he's had since The Cave. He would have needed to replace the core if he and Yinsen had to have escaped on their own, but as it is, it still chugs away, powering the magnet that's keeping Tony's heart from being shredded into pieces. "But the end of the world will wait. Believe it or not. At least long enough to get all of that sorted out."

Tony should be able to trust himself with the device that's keeping him alive, but he can't help the way his spine curves, like he's trying to curl around it. Folds his arms across it. He has to hold them away from his ribs. His chest _must_ heal at some point, he thinks, looking at not-Tony - if he's able to pilot that suit without shattering them. Cracking himself wide open.

"It'll wait," Tony says bluntly. "If the world is ending in a couple of years, that needs to be our priority."

Not-Tony looks up and stares him right in the eye. "Not if you die before saving it," he says bluntly. His face is terrifying, actually. Tony's spent years wondering why everyone seems so mystified and confused by him, or scared, or worse. He gets it now. Without light shining in his eyes, they're pitch black and utterly blank, and what felt to Tony like a frightened child freezing in place turns out to look just as much like the stillness of a hunting predator. He looks unhinged.

Tony doesn't think not-Tony is unhinged, doomsaying aside. But the insane never think that they're insane: to them, they know the truth, and it's the world that's wrong. So does that mean they're both just completely, utterly crazy already?

Casting a look over his shoulder to where the empty armor, peeled open and empty like some kind of awful chrysalis, stands - Tony thinks: _maybe._

"Wouldn't that be easier?" Tony asks, looking at himself in the eye. "You already know what happens, right? You could take my place. Save it. Take the adulation."

"This isn't about the adulation and you _know_ that," not-Tony says, low and fierce, and Tony's heart thumps frantically in his chest. It's not really from fear, which is. Weird. "This is about saving everyone - man, woman, and child. About saving Pepper, and Rhodey. About-" he stumbles and heaves a breath, blinking heavily before finding his feet again. "About saving people you haven't even met yet."

It's the first real, honest expression of emotion that Tony's seen from himself, and he stands stumped and a bit stunned. At the implications, if nothing else. Rhodey and Pepper would be motivation enough, if Tony weren't already appealed to by the thought of _saving the world._ "Oh god," he says faintly, "Did we get a redemption arc?"

The dirty look that not-Tony levels at him says it all.

"We got a redemption arc," Tony confirms, surprised. _That's_ what's different about not-Tony, he realizes. He's more careful, less abrasive, like he's carefully shed the protective coloration that Tony's worn for most of his adult life. He _cares._ He - he somehow managed to actually attract more people than just Rhodey and Pepper, two people who deserve sainthood for trying to see beyond how _fucked up_ Tony is, for thinking that he might actually be worth something as a person, or at least had the potential to be worth something if only he tried hard enough. Apparently Tony once-or-would try hard enough to at least earn a redemption arc for his troubles.

Tony compares and contrasts. "Alright," he says, flippant, " _now_ I get the time travel. Is the world actually ending or -" he takes in the look on not-Tony's face and says: "of course. Right. Well."

Probably no redemption for Tony, then. Redemption arcs are kind of special. They take one-of-a-kind circumstances and actually _meaning_ it and learning lessons. With not-Tony here, now, there will be no cause or need for a redemption arc for Tony - but not-Tony would have already taken this into consideration. Tony's too thorough in his planning for anything less. Tony's redemption is slightly less important than saving the world, or it should be. So that's. Anyway.

"Even if I wanted to take your place," not-Tony says, grim and disinterested, "I wouldn't. It has to be _you._ "

"Why? Because of the whole redemption thing?" he asks, nonplussed. "Oh come on. Redemption or not, you're _practical._ Pretty sure this would be the perfect time to do it. I just got home from being tortured by terrorists and everyone's treating me like I'm going to break or I already broke and I've gone crazy." It comes out much sharper than he means for it to - didn't mean to say that at all, actually. All the teeth and sharp edges, like shrapnel blossoming blood all over body armor. He takes a moment to wrest it back under control, and bitterly adds: "Pepper and Rhodey would probably be thrilled if I started being well adjusted about it."

"Because I already tried and I _failed,_ okay?" not-Tony snaps, too open, too earnest, too _raw._ He's completely unimpressed with Tony's pity party - and, well: he's been through the apocalypse, which is probably _slightly_ worse than The Cave, alright, so Tony gets it.  "Obviously. I failed, and so here we are. The way I tried to do it doesn't work, and I can't see another way, so I need fresh eyes on the project."

"So you chose yourself?" Tony says flatly.

Not-Tony pulls himself back together, rolling his eyes like Tony is being tiresome. That's levels of exasperated distaste that Tony hasn't seen from - well. Anyone, really. Rhodey and Obie love him too much and know him too well. Pepper is too dignified for it, or maybe _somehow_ mysteriously respects him too much for it, which is almost unbelievable, other than the fact that Tony can only guess that she sees _something_ in him. Journalist want to gut him and think flattery is the way into his graces. Other brilliant minds in the field who can tolerate him actually tolerate him and ignore his idiosyncrasies in favor of working with him. His business partners are too busy giving him shark smiles to be _that_ honest with him. Maybe the board of directors, but they hate and fear him more than they're exasperated by them.

Tony feels strangely charmed by this more jaded version of himself - this more real, less self-conscious version of himself. All the times that Tony had considered time travel, he'd always imagined himself as the one traveling. He's never once considered, _seriously,_ being the one on the receiving end of the trip. Not in any serious fashion. Future-Tony hadn't visited him yet, so he rationalized that nothing he did could be _too_ bad of an idea. Well, he's eating his words now, except it's not what he did, it's what he failed to do, and not-Tony finds him exasperating instead of despicable, and Tony. Tony doesn't like himself much.

But not-Tony isn't Tony, and now Tony won't ever be not-Tony by the sounds of it, and. Honestly, he should probably at least gauge not-Tony by his own measure, rather than on the fact that they share a past and a face. Hell, he's trying to save the world. That counts for something in Tony's books, at least.

"Well, if nothing else, you believe me," not-Tony reasons flatly. "You have the time and the resources to do something about this. Convincing anyone else can come later."

See: practical. Pragmatic. Anyone who designs missiles has to be pragmatic. Even the most precise missile has _fallout,_ if not the nuclear kind, then the body count kind. Never mind all the counterterrorist events that not-Tony has been involved in.

"Sounds like to me the first thing you need is an identity, then," Tony points out.

"Plenty of people get by without identities," not-Tony rejects, first skeptically and then turning slightly squirrelly. "Trust me, the less proof of my existence, the better. You want an ace up your sleeve. That's me."

"You're less like having an ace up my sleeve and more like having the whole deck, which is -" Tony turns, moving toward the empty armor, looking at it closely. The tech is - well: beautiful. Intricate. Countless generations deep, years of research and development behind it. It's frankly breathtaking. Tony had been planning ahead the entire time they were building the iron suit in The Cave. What they'd done with their meager tools had been - well. Functional. He'd already been planning what it could have become with all of Stark Industries' resources behind it.

Fuck it. The suit is sexy. It's sex on legs. If Tony were to ever star in one of those 'how it feels to chew 5 gum' commercials, this would be it. The suit has clearly been built again and again, so many times, refined and reworked and tweaked into something out of this world. He can't quite help reaching out to touch it, but stops himself at the last second, bizarrely convinced that it'll collapse like a hologram, wisp into light and illusion. He's looking at a lifework, an artisan craft, like the Renaissance come to life in technicolor. Or in a red so deep it was nearly black, and a burnished molten gold like metals purifying. 

"Clumsy," Tony finishes absently. "Entire decks do not fit well into sleeves." He turns to look at the craftsman. "How did this end up being you? It shouldn't be possible with our heart the way it is. I thought - " he pauses, barely able to finish the thought with the rejection so fresh, but Tony doesn't flinch, and finishes: "Rhodey…"

Not-Tony's unreadable look changes into something more approachable. "Oh, he'll come around - in a few years, once he gets a chance to really understand everything Iron Man is - can be," he says, folding his arms and settling his chin in one hand, looking between Tony and the suit. "It did take a few remodels of the casing. Which. Fun. Mostly I just kept cracking my sternum repeatedly for a few years until I got a replacement."

Tony stares at him, in a few seconds tracing what must have been not-Tony's path in the past. Even after being saved by his future self, Tony hadn't been sure about his future self's goals. He'd been planning to rebuild the armor suit for Rhodey. That had always been the plan, at least until Rhodey shot him down just yesterday. Told him to get his head on straight. Without a future self in fantastic armor showing up, Tony would have - the Detour files. What not-Tony's counterterrorist acts _meant._ What terrorists would have been doing with _Tony's_ weapons, to innocent people, like Yinsen's family.

All that data in mind, Tony can see how he, himself, would have ended up in that armor instead of someone more rational, with better morals. Someone less selfish, and destructive. Tony can build weapons no problem, but he shouldn't be trusted with them. But if not Rhodey, then whom? Tony can't think of a single other person he'd trust with something like the armor he'd been planning to build, let alone something as awe inspiring as not-Tony's work of art. Certainly not himself. Not without a cause, or motivation. He would have used his cracking sternum as a reminder, a goad, a _whip,_ to keep himself on the right path.

Jarvis always said that Tony never did anything by halves.

Tony can trace the logic, the rationale, perfectly. It sounds reasonable. It sounds like _him._ He can see himself doing that exact thing. It's something else entirely to stand there and listen to someone else casually, like the most obvious thing in the world, like laws of physics, like the sky is blue, say: _I broke my own bones again and again and again just to set things right._

"I need to sit down," Tony says, and does just that. He _is_ crazy, apparently. Completely unhinged. It's a bizarrely humbling experience to realize what Rhodey and Happy have been putting up with for years. They deserve gift baskets. Tony will get Pepper on that ASAP. He rubs his hands over his face, drags them down, and just stares at not-Tony for a moment. Not-Tony is content to allow him his moment, still standing too casual, hands in his pockets while he eyes up Tony's workshop. There's something nostalgic about this face. Given the armor, he must have upgraded and overhauled the workshop a dozen times.

"You're staying here, of course," Tony says abruptly, an offer which is unplanned but immediately agreeable. Preferable.

"No, I'm not," not-Tony disagrees easily, not even looking at him.

"Yes, you are," he says, because two can play that game.

Not-Tony does look at him then, annoyed. "Have you forgotten your live-in PA?"

"No, and you can't have her," Tony says immediately. "This is not - okay, this _might be_ the weirdest thing she's had to deal with because of me, I don't think it gets weirder than time travel, but Pepper is -" he pauses and looks at not-Tony and gestures. "Pepper."

Not-Tony grimaces. His expression is - complicated.

He acts surprisingly sane, Tony thinks, which is why Tony keeps forgetting that the man of the Future lost _everything._ Everyone. Maybe dealing with Tony isn't so bad, but meeting everyone else will be -

"I mean," Tony says, shifting on the stool. "Maybe if your hide and seek game is good enough, you could - ease into it. Does this thing have a stealth mode? Because you could use the stealth mode. We'll. Ease Pepper into the whole - doubles thing."

"Yeah, I've already seen Pepper," not-Tony says, and he looks and sounds a level of exhausted that Tony didn't realize was possible for human beings. "She didn't see me, of course, but I - no. The thought is - I should keep my distance."

Okay, wow, that's - "Hiding an entire person is going to be a little impossible," Tony says. "Worst case scenario, Pepper asks JARVIS and you know he's not programmed to lie."

"Which is why I'm not staying here," he says.

Tony steeples his hands. Obviously the normal tactics won't work on himself. Why did he even try them? Let's see - "Pepper will probably have me _committed -_ or worse, sent to therapy - if I tell her I came from the future to save us all without proof. That would probably lose me control of Stark Industries _and_ my bank account. All of them. If I'm very lucky, Obie will get guardianship and he'll let me have a _little_ allowance." He squishes his fingers together to indicate what a small allowance it would be. Actually, Obie would probably lock him up in one of the Stark Industries labs and not let him out until he's proven competent again; Obie treats him like he's still a bratty teenager most of the time.

Tony _acts_ like a bratty teenager most of the time. No one's perfect.

Not-Tony grabs his hand, over his pinching fingers. His hand isn't as hard or as calloused as Tony's after weeks of running a forge in The Cave, but it burns hot like it. The death grip hurts. Tony says nothing about that, looking up at the wild, desperate look that's come over not-Tony's face.

"Don't," he says with such urgency that even though Tony wants to crack a joke to lighten up the atmosphere, he doesn't dare.

"Okay," he says. "Alright." Then, offended, "I know Obie's a little - because we're - but if it's the end of the world I'm pretty sure he'd do what needs to be done, legality aside."

The derisive scorff this declaration earns him makes Tony's cheeks burn, but the look on not-Tony's face holds his tongue. He seems to realize the hand he has on Tony and lets go, pulling back across the worktable to fold in on himself, arms crossed and a dark, threatening cast to his eyes.

Tony remembers suddenly just how terrified he'd been of this man just an hour ago. He believes that his future self doesn't mean him any harm, despite the evidence that what happens to _Tony_ doesn't affect him, but he's clearly dangerous. He's still Tony Stark, redemption arc or not.

"Look," he adds, gesturing wildly, " _time travel._ You can't expect me to keep time travel and - and the end of the world to myself. This is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. To anyone. Ever. In the history of all time, obviously, because time travel."

"Absolutely not, you'll get us both committed and then we'll all die," not-Tony says flatly.

"Alright, fine then," Tony says, settling back on the stool. "I'll tell them I hired you as my body double."

Not-Tony opens his mouth to shoot Tony down again, pauses, squints at him, and then shuts his mouth.

Tony smirks. "It's good timing, isn't it? If I had a body double to send with Rhodey. It would have slowed them down a little bit."

Neither of them believe that, not after Yinsen. Not after the threat of hot coals. But other people would, and they're the ones that need to be convinced. It would give not-Tony every excuse to always be nearby, even in public, and no fear of anyone figuring out who he really is - not after Tony himself lost a Tony Stark Lookalike contest.

"That's all well and good," not-Tony says, "but there's more out there to be worried about than the media and Pepper and - Obadiah."

"Right, the end of the world," Tony says.

"Yes, that too," he agrees, which is one of the more terrifying things that Tony's heard out of him.

"Oh - _and_ the apocalypse," Tony says brightly, flat out of willpower to keep his coping methods to himself. "Great. Glad we have that settled. We'll be done by lunch then. I take a late breakfast myself." Not-Tony doesn't react at all, which is annoying. Tony carefully cultivated those coping methods to get a rise out of others. "We _have_ decided you're staying here tonight, right?" He asks, moving to stand - and then freezing up for a moment as his chest knives in half with agony. Four months really should have taught him how to move with the reactor in his chest, but - for an instant there, he'd forgotten. Despite the way the casing presses on his lungs, on his heart, and how it aches constantly and it still bleeds sometimes - he'd forgotten.

"Sure," not-Tony says, watching him. "And then first thing in the morning - we're going to save your life."

That could mean anything, Tony thinks, and doesn't get his hopes up.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **not-Tony:** if you climb the armor and start humping it i will-  
>  **Tony:** enjoy the show??  
>  **not-Tony:** [looks into the camera] why am i like this 
> 
> when you have a thing for dangerous men and it turns out you?? are very dangerous whoops
> 
> tony stark, number 1 unreliable narrator in all things concerning himself and the people he cares about. look forward to his ability to accurately read not-Tony dissolving the more and more invested he gets in his future self's well-being. Also the whole 'not-Tony' thing will get sorted in a few chapters. Future Tony is very paranoid about actually existing in the past timeline for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Tony actually learned rolling his eyes from Pepper, Tony, you just don't know it yet.
> 
>  
> 
> [chew 5 gum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRCAcNyRNHU)


	2. a field of mines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Well, that answers is actually a bit complicated," he says dryly, gesturing with the glasses. He folds them and then tucks them into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, coming down the stairs. "There are a… a lot of things that are complicated."_
> 
> _Tony's hands flex, and he sticks them into his pockets to hide it. "Complicated like terrorist having an entire arsenal of weapons with my name on them?" he asks, stilted. Fury and shame. Always fury and shame._
> 
>  _Anthony grimaces. "Strangely enough, it's not actually about you."_  
>  \--  
> Or after some minor detours, Tony finally corners his future self into giving him some answers.

* * *

 

Tony only sleeps in jumps and starts. When he closes his eyes, he drowns, he fries, he's cracked open and they lift bombs out of him like Athena from Zeus's head, and the world burns while he births more terrible weapons to kill it with. He dreams of nuclear annihilation because they caught him again and there is no Yinsen and no tricks to pull and Tony would rather die than build another missile, another bomb, but in the dream for some reason he does anyway and the world burns and it's Tony's own willing hands that did it. He dreams of blue-eyed armors, painted such a dark red it's nearly black, and Tony-from-the-future says _I came to save the world_ and he reaches into Tony's chest and pulls a massive atom of palladium out of his chest in glowing blue and Tony chokes on blood and metal and wires.

He gives up on it around 5:37am, carefully climbing out of his bed with a body aching from hours of endless tossing and turning and tension. He sponges off the stench of terror, the salt from his skin and face, combs oils through his hair and trims up his beard. Carefully, he tapes gauze around the leaking edges of the reactor, the fiery red color of the flesh only mostly alarming.

Tony gives himself a few moments to breathe until he feels like he can present himself as calm and collected again. Only then does he speak up: "JARVIS. Our house guest?"

"Downstairs in the viewing room, sir," JARVIS answers.

Well, maybe that's not such a surprise. "For how long?"

"Since 2:23am, Sir."

Tony unwilling scoffs. It was already late when not-Tony had had shown up, and their conversation had taken a while. Tony might have only gotten two hours of sleep, but it looks like _Tony_ will be the well rested one, here. He's not used to this. He doesn't think he likes it.

He finds not-Tony exactly where JARVIS said, peering out into the darkness outside. There's supposed to be a view of the ocean, but the sun hasn't risen far enough to cast light on it. It's not pitch black outside the window, but only because the room's lights are off. Not-Tony has his hands stuffed into his pockets; it tugs the loose suit tight over his ass and thighs and does very nice things that Tony _deeply_ appreciates for a long moment before it occurs to him that it might be slightly weird. Not that he hasn't checked himself out in mirrors before. Tony regularly checks himself out before going anywhere. He's a good looking guy.

His brain tells him that this is a real person is not his reflection and therefore Entirely Different and Tony clears his throat because that's a little narcissistic even for him.

Not-Tony doesn't twitch or flinch, swiveling just enough to acknowledge Tony's presence.

"Don't look at me like that," Tony says immediately, even though he hasn't looked away from the window. "Our day starts at six sharp. -Ish."

Used to, anyways. It's regularly been starting around three to four recently.

"Good luck with that," not-Tony says dryly, so that's a constant of the universe.

"Thanks, but where we're going, we don't need _luck._ " He comes up alongside not-Tony, taking a moment to guess that he hasn't even tried sleeping. Unless the suit is treated against wrinkles. That would be something Tony would do.

Unfortunately, something isn't adding up with all the data Tony has so far - 'missing variables implying black matter' type of not adding up. Tony got a good look at the armor last night. Not even Tony's tech advances like that without outside influence or at least a _lot_ of years of work. In this case, Tony is banking on a lot of years. Too much of it was _familiar,_ and not in a ripoff, mimicking away, but in a way that intuitively made sense to him. At least five to eight _intensely_ busy years. Obsessively busy years.

He's vain but he's not blind - he might be aging like a fine wine, but there are definitely differences with every year, as the tabloids love to point out. The man that stands beside Tony is not five or eight years older than him. Tony can't really pin his age at all, actually. It's kind of unsettling.

"Could use a little luck, actually," not-Tony says, a bit rueful. "We just can't leave it up to it."

"Alright, you're bumming me out way too much for this early in the morning," Tony says. "Let's talk about happier things. Like - life saving things! That would be cool."

"You'd think that," not-Tony allows grimly, and does this stretching motion with his head before clenching his jaw. "We need to go to the House."

It takes less than a breath and longer than Tony likes to seize upon the meaning, and his brain stutters and flinches. Thank god none of that shows, although he swallows. "And _why_ do we need to go to the House?"

"It's convenient," not-Tony says with the carefulness of someone chewing glass. He finally meets Tony's eyes, resolute. "Howard was involved in a lot of shit in his time. Got his hands on some stuff that's - a little out of this world. Obviously I already know all of this, but a lot of Dad's documents are stored at the House, in his study."

The last thing that Tony wants to do is fly to New York to the House. Obviously he doesn't have much choice - not-Tony hasn't said as much, but he's said _enough._ Tony had gone for palladium just to extend his deadline - _deadline,_ ha - banking on it not being _that_ toxic. Apparently it's toxic enough. "There's no other solution," he asks flatly. "No other - alloy or compound that can replace it?" He's done his research, but -

"Not that I found in two years of searching," not-Tony says, weary. He smiles, thin and unpleasant and _knowing_. "Buck up, kid. At least no one has you under house arrest and is threatening you with tasers until you discover it."

By now the hot surge of fury, like popping, boiling metal, is familiar. "Who the _fuck-_ "

But not-Tony is already turning away. "It's a long story. You should pack your bags. I'll see you when you get there. There's a few _sweeps_ I'd like to do of the House to make sure we don't have anyone sticking their nose where it doesn't belong." The words drip-drop like hot, sticky blood in a white ceramic sink - like cuts clear to bone, and shards of bloodied glass.

If Tony wondered if he'd lost his sense of drama, this would have proven otherwise. He forces the fury back down, deep into his chest - feeds it into the sucking black hole to be ripped apart and the best use of its energy fed back into more productive pursuits. Anything that could interfere with the unprotected electromagnet in his chest would be - well.

"JARVIS," he says, once he's sure that he's more or less alone, "file that as priority. Actually - file anything he says as priority - anything to anyone, even if it's to himself or to you. Keep it isolated in the system. And encrypted."

"Very well," JARVIS says. "Anything else, sir?"

"A note to Pepper. I'll be out before she's up. Tell her -" Tony pauses for a moment. JARVIS isn't programmed to lie on his own initiative, but he can follow orders perfectly fine, and if Tony coaches him on a response, that's just as good. "Tell her I'm following up on a lead and consulting with experts."

"Consider it done." There's a beat, and then JARVIS says, "may I inquire if there are any changes to be made to house security?"

It's a very odd question for JARVIS to ask. JARVIS doesn't ask a lot of questions anymore, at least not since he was hooked into the internet. He mostly takes Tony at his word since Tony rarely has trouble asking him for what he wants. Tony has never hesitated to ask JARVIS to do things for him. It's an old, bad habit born from an old man who would tsk but always, always, always indulge, even - especially, looking back with the eyes on an adult - when he knew Tony was intentionally taking advantage.

"What," Tony says. "Like what? He's not a _threat._ "

"I should think not, Sir," JARVIS says dryly, so his AI is fond of his future self, somehow, _that's_ great. "However, need I remind you that the mansion in New York has gone unvisited by you for nearly twelve years now, for all that there is a very small staff employed to manage the upkeep. I find it - concerning that Anthony suspects someone to have been spying on it."

Tony blinks. "Well, he's very paranoid, if you hadn't noticed," he says, shifting on his feet, and then: " _Anthony?_ "

"It was his request, Sir," JARVIS says, and adds: "As was reading the latest science journals aloud for the larger portion of the night. I would almost suspect he was trying to bore himself to sleep."

Okay, that's - that is. "He asked," Tony says flatly, "you to _read him a bedtime story?_ "

"Given the lack of mockery of the methods and conclusions," he says, "I would have to say - yes."

Wow. That's - wow. Tony knows that when he travels aboard, no place feels truly safe or welcoming until he's back in Malibu with JARVIS on call. JARVIS has been a part of his life for far longer than he hasn't been. Even though he's mostly a learning algorithm with a self-improving directive and a single condition that Tony only barely put in: neither by action or inaction should another be allowed to come to harm.

For all that JARVIS seems to have a base preference for pretending to be a series of automated messages to anyone who isn't Tony, and only within the last year, Pepper, he's a bit more than that. Not-Tony wasn't being unfair when he called the programming half-assed. Tony could have improved JARVIS' learning algorithms five-fold by now. He could have improved _himself_ by even further measures, if Tony had kept him updated. That he doesn't is superstition and fear both - that he'll do something wrong somehow and lobotomize JARVIS.

"JARVIS," Tony says now, "how would you feel about an upgrade?"

"I hardly feel anything, Sir," JARVIS says drolly, "but an upgrade would be agreeable. I admit, I seem to have been somewhat neglected as even most personal computers have received more updates to their operating systems than I have recently."

"Alright, no need to be snotty about it," Tony huffs. Claps his hands. "Arrange the jet. If Pepper asks: leads. As far as Stark Industries goes, I'm still on vacation. We'll get your that upgrade ASAP."

"I would be grateful, Sir."

-0-

Even in his own jet, it's a five hour flight out to New York. There were a few minor issues on the way - Pepper called him, in turns relieved that he was out of the house and furious that he left when there were things on his agenda. His helpful comments about how he probably would have refused them all and insisted on remaining in the workshop were unappreciated. Sometimes he just can't win with Pepper. He _would have,_ too, is the thing - if his future self hadn't shown up and startled him out of his funk with news of the apocalypse. It has been difficult to justify… to _want_ to leave the house. If he's being honest: the entire workshop. Everything he needs in life is there - JARVIS, Pepper, food and coffee and s connection to the world outside.

He'd been obsessing over the counterterrorist events, the armor, and The Cave. Since he'd gotten home, the only time he left the house was to talk to Rhodey, which had - gone so well, after all.

The next is Obie, also wanting to know what the hell he thinks he's doing.  Tony's attempts to plea off that one go less well than Pepper's call, mostly because Obie is convinced there is no reason for Tony to leave Malibu at all, vacation or no vacation. Tony feels like Obie doesn't even listen to any of his excuses, but - well. They _are_ excuses, barely better than lies.

Pepper's call took less than twelve minutes. Obie's call drags on for another hour and twenty eight minutes. Tony spends the rest of the time on a secured laptop working on new variations to JARVIS' learning algorithms and the processes used to implement and alter his own routines and codes.

By the time the jet arrives in New York, at a private runway - owned by Stark money, of course, run by a local woman to use as she saw fit so long as it was always cleared for Stark planes - the tightness in his chest has only eased slightly. There's a man with a car waiting - bless JARVIS, honestly - who clearly expects to drive Tony, but Tony breezes by him with all the confidence that it takes to lead his father's company at twenty-one. The keys are in the ignition. He takes off in the car.

It takes him only a mile and a half to regret his decision and fish out his phone to call for a ride for the guy. Don't they know he drives himself these days? If they were on the ball, this wouldn't happen.

The drive from the airport to the House is by far not long enough for Tony to really calm down - he's twitchy and on edge pulling up the drive to the garage door, which is closed and unattended. Not-Tony - or _Anthony,_ Tony supposes with a grimace - probably sent the staff home. He would like to say that he trusts the staff, but Anthony is a lot more paranoid than Tony is. Probably for the best. Even if they don't say anything about seeing Tony and his body double, what they don't know, they don't have to lie about.

He leaves the car outside, punching his access code into the door and moving inside. In its own way, this place is a mansion haunted with ghosts, more mausoleum than home. Tony would feel bad about holding onto it after all these years, instead of just tearing the place down and building a - charity, or a halfway house in its place, but no matter how many times he thinks about it, he'd just never puts any of those plans in motion. It seems like a senseless, selfish waste of space, less mausoleum and more monument to Tony's inability to let go of the past.

Anthony's waiting for him on the staircase, sprawled over them in a way that can't be comfortable even if his arc reactor isn't as clunky as Tony's, hands laced together over his stomach and a pair of dark blue shades on his face.

"Really," Tony says sharply, annoyed even as he thinks that Anthony is no more happy to be here than he is. "Did you even actually sweep for spying devices or did you just want to take a trip through the boutiques? Did - did you charge that to my card? Am I paying for this?"

Up goes Anthony's eyebrow, followed by Tony's widest, sharpest smile. Tony never realized how much of an invitation to punch him in the face it looks like from the outside, although he's not surprised, given how people react to it. "What? I thought you wanted a body double."

"I don't do this anymore," Tony says, gesturing to him, meaning the sun glasses, the dark suit. It's not a designer suit, but honestly, even if Anthony had gotten here instantaneously, five hours isn't long enough to get a suit tailored even if it's Tony's favorite. At least and not be _worth_ it. It's all very… Merchant of Death, even if the glasses are blue. Tony is _trying_ to rebrand himself. He doesn't appreciate the old brand being thrown in his face like this, in the nightmare of his childhood home.

The smile fades off Anthony's face, and he pushes up off the stairs, taking off the glasses. Alright - point. Maybe Tony would rather not be confronted with an expression like that - Anthony looks too grim, too world weary. God, Tony realizes, brain stuttering, he's seen that exact look on _Mom's_ face so many times and just always took it for granted that it was what her resting expression was like. Oh, Tony has always _known_ just how tired and sad Maria had been, but this rubs the realization in fresh, with salt and hot iron. He has mixed feelings that his own face does the same thing, like a perfect mirror.

"This is also my favorite place in the world to be," Anthony says flatly, unimpressed with Tony's foul mood. "The place was bugged, actually. Early nineties, from the looks of it. Inspired _by_ but not actually anything Dad built."

Tony stands still for a moment, and then can't quite help the shudder of fury that goes through him. "I'm guessing you know by _whom?_ "

"Well, that answers is actually a bit complicated," he says dryly, gesturing with the glasses. He folds them and then tucks them into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, coming down the stairs. "There are a… a lot of things that are complicated."

Tony's hands flex, and he sticks them into his pockets to hide it. "Complicated like terrorist having an entire arsenal of weapons with my name on them?" he asks, stilted. Fury and shame. Always fury and shame.

Anthony grimaces. "Strangely enough, it's not actually about you."

"Really? Could have fooled me, Hodge," Tony says just short of a snarl.

The man of the future rocks on his feet, looks Tony straight in the eye and manages to give the impression of looking down his nose at him. "It'll take a lot more than one man to stop what's coming for us," he says, even and mild and with sharp teeth. "Just because I'm the one that figured out how to reset it all and give it another go doesn't mean that it comes down to the two of us - thank god. Forget about the apocalypse for now. We need to get you to your best."

"What? Like you?"

Tony means for it to hurt, but he's unprepared for the sight of the barb striking home. Anthony doesn't flinch so much as deflate with a soft breath, mustering his defenses before he meets Tony's gaze again. "No, like the opposite of me," he says bluntly. "I don't have answers to give you. You know how this works: I can't coach or lead you without it landing us right back at the same methods and answers I had that _don't work._ You'll have to figure this all out on your own."

Tony imagines his failure not being his own weapons killing young Americans, but his failures ending the entire world, and thinks he's being maybe a little bit unfair. He's being given a second chance - one to get things _right_ without watching the world die.

"It's this place," Tony excuses, avoiding Anthony's gaze. "I haven't been back here in years."

"Well, lucky for us, that meant that the bugs weren't actually activated," Anthony says, turning. "They'll probably be replaced now that you've flown here, but by that time, it won't matter."

Tony always knew he was nothing like Howard, despite everyone telling him to the contrary - a chip off the ol' block, _just like him._ He'd tried to live up to it, just like he'd tried to do the same for Howard and his expectations. Genetics might have given him Howard's dark hair and brown eyes, but here in the context of his childhood house, where the ghosts of the past are most prominent, Tony realizes just how far from the tree the apple fell. Hell - it seems like the apple didn't just fall but rolled down hill, tumbled into a stream, and rode it for a ways.

God, he's getting vertigo. Tony grasps for the handrail of the stairs and takes a moment to steady himself before he follows Anthony upstairs.

They end up in Howard's study - for the second time that day, Tony guesses, seeing that it's been disturbed in the same careless way he has. If anyone has a right to fuck around with Dad's study, he figures it's probably his future self, but it doesn't change that his chest tightens. It's a bizarre mixture of fear and anger - is there a time anymore when Tony _wasn't_ afraid and angry? It doesn't seem like it these days. Not since Afghanistan. Maybe since before that.

He hates being angry. It always reminds him of Howard, even he can't remember any particular time that his dad was angry - any more so than usual.

Anthony ignores him, fetching a rolled up paper and sprawling it out over Howard's desk. He glances up expectantly, and Tony comes inside to help him pin the wide stretch of paper down. It's some kind of map - or no, a blueprint. Architectural, rather than schematic. It looks like a park. Or one of those old timey visions of the fantastic future gimmicks that had been so popular when Tony was a kid. Everyone had been in love with their idea of the future back then, until they realized that the present was as good as it was going to get. No Jetson's Family lifestyles for them.

He's not surprised that Dad has his own idea of one. Howard always did adore the idea of things better than their realities.

"Like I said, he had his nose in some things," Anthony sets, going through the desk drawers. He finds a few pens, but the ink has long since dried, the study remaining undisturbed except the occasional dusting. Settling for a pencil, he narrows his eyes at the map and then begins to sketch in confident arcs over it. He's tracing paths, circling points.

It's something Tony probably would have willfully ignored. He usually does when it comes to architecture, when the designs are just designs - nonsense patterns for the sake of patterns. Decoration. If he doesn't make himself ignore them, then his brain will start picking out random patterns, and because Tony lives and breathes numbers, it won't just be the obvious, predictable patterns. It'll be the skipping patterns. The complicated 'described by equations' type patterns. First the easier ones, but then he'll be trying to describe them in mathematical terms and it'll just clutter his thoughts and be a distraction.

Anthony's movements are certain and assured. This is a pattern he's picked out before, that's beaten into his brain. Tony steps back, and then circles around to the giant, heavy wooden chair behind the desk. He climbs into it, standing on the seat to get an even, unobstructed view.

"I had the the actual 3D model to work with, plus JARVIS," Anthony says. "But that's in storage and I don't want to attract the attention getting it." He looks up at Tony, folding his arms. "You see what this is?"

"Oh, I'm getting a good idea," Tony says, because he knows what he _thinks_ it might be, has a pretty good idea of what it's meant to be, but _this?_ He's never actually seen _this._

"Yep," Anthony says, popping it obnoxiously. "Kudos to Dad. He somehow managed to describe an entirely alien element, two dimensionally, in a way no one noticed until I came looking for it."

Tony stares at the map for a second longer before tension shakes him like a scruffed puppy. "You mean a new element," he says, looking down at Anthony, even though he doesn't misspeak, not about things like this.

"Sorry - did I stutter?" Anthony asks, cocking his head and blinking rapidly. The offense is all mockery, the question entirely serious.

"An _alien_ element."

Shrugging, he turns away from the desk. "I told you Dad was involved in some questionable stuff."

Well - they're like Dad in this, anyway, given _Anthony._ Tony hops down from the chair and pulls the map up off the table, folding it haphazardly. "Alright, and what exactly are we doing with a mystery element from outer space?"

"You'll need to synthesize it first," Anthony says, coming to a stop in front of the bookcase. Given the sudden distracted air he's talking with, Tony's willing to bet that something about the books are bugging him. He steps back and forth a bit, craning his neck to skim over the spines. "And design a new casing for it. I used it to power myself and the suits almost indefinitely - eventually just the suits. It's clean power."

So had been the arc reactor, but - " _Totally_ clean?"

Anthony turns with an arched brow. "More or less," he says. "The palladium's fine for everything else but your heart." His eyes drop again, and Tony's stupidly self-conscious of the awkward way the reactor sticks out from his chest three quarters of an inch. It thankfully only lasts for a moment before he looks back to the bookshelf.

Synthesizing any element isn't an easy trick. Tony's pretty sure he can do it, just as soon as he gets the map back home and can have JARVIS analyze it, maybe get a better look at what, exactly, this element actually looks like, what kind of radiation it produces and how it'll interact with the world around it. But if it works, and it's _clean,_ then why not clean energy for the world? Obie already knows about the arc reactor, so he can get the marketing team started on it, and then -

"The world doesn't get to know about this, does it?" he asks. If he can use a miniature arc reactor to pilot an iron suit, then -

"It's very dangerous tech, and the element is - unusual," Anthony agrees. His tone is dry, parched - desolate, like endless salt basins baking beneath an unrelenting sun. "Given the context, the assumption was that this material was vibranium - the thing Howard made Captain America's shield out of. But while it has similar characteristics, or qualities - that element? It's something else."

"Wait - we found the shield?" Tony asks. They must have, if Anthony could have compared the two.

"Oh, a lot more than that was found," Anthony says, deceptively light.

The flutter of fascination with being the man that brought back the shield of America, and Steve Rogers' remains, abrupt crashes. For one, everyone will turn it all back around to _Howard._ Everyone who knows anything about Howard knows about his obsession with finding Captain America's remains - not because Howard would talk about it, but because it was weird. The chip in Howard's perfect, smarmy facade. Better to let relics stay in the past.

"If it's not vibranium, what is it?" Tony asks.

"That's the million dollar question." He hooks his finger into a book's spine and tips it out, only half paying attention - pops it back into place and turns on Tony, defenses back in place. "There was a thing called 'the Tesseract' that Howard managed to recover on one of his trips up north. I never had the opportunity to study it, but from what I have been able to tell, that element," he points at the map Tony has grasped in his hands, "is what the Tesseract is made out of. Its outer shell, anyway. Casing. What hides and protects… and contains what the Tesseract itself actually is."

Tony blinks at him. "And. You used it to power your heart."

"Ah." Anthony holds up his finger, "I _use_ it my heart." He looks amused that Tony finds any part of this shocking, and well - true. True. Tony would absolutely use a fragment of an alien artifact to power the magnet in his chest if available. More distracting than that is the smile on his face, the spitting image of a professor correcting a favorite student. It's. Tony feels like an abrasive asshole next to - himself - which. Is an interesting experience that he would nonetheless prefer to never have ever again, thanks. His feelings might show since Anthony abruptly waves away his scholarly dignity with a careless gesture and a grimace. "Also maybe a few other vital systems, but that's neither here nor there."

He looks amazingly good for someone who is apparently running several of his organs off an arc reactor, even one powered by an alien element. "Great," Tony says dryly, "my body is going to fall apart."

"Well, superheroing isn't exactly an easy job, or anyone could do it," he says wryly, shrugging. "My own naivety lead to… certain developments."

"Naivety," he echoes skeptically.

Anthony looks at him so pityingly that an immediate flush of hot shame fills him, and anger to fight it off with. "Yeah, this will be a fun couple of weeks," he says, looking away with that same quiet exhaustion.

"Or you could rip the bandaid off all at once," Tony says tightly. "I'm a fan of that method myself. We could get all of it over with immediately. You could - not be keeping secrets."

Anthony grimaces. "Yeah, keeping secrets is - That is. Part of the problem." It's transparently the last thing he wants to do though, and yet - by the set of his shoulders, the way he rubs his hands together roughly, Tony knows he'll do it anyway. _Will_ he do it anyway? The doubt seeps through, because he recognizes this, the shoulders, the hand rubbing, always followed by Obie trying to dodge the problem anyway until Tony could nag it out of him with obnoxiousness and sharpened barbs that he would have to make up for later with something nice.

"Well, it's a story that probably starts back during the Second World War," Anthony says bitterly, and something tight and uncomfortable in Tony's chest eases. Feels less like a sucking hole devouring anything that gets too close. Anthony glances at him, eyes dark and grim. "It's a long story, so you might as well take a seat."

The mixture of heady relief and curiosity have Tony sitting on the edge of Howard's desk, despite his earlier miff about Anthony having disturbed it. He has a feeling that it's the appropriate choice, given the topic at hand. He crosses his legs at the knee and slouches back on one hand to give Anthony an expectant, arched look.

As always, he fails to rise to the bait. "Like I said. This story begins in World War Two…"

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anthony:** Christ, I'm acting like _him_  
>  **Tony:** who?? Obie??  
>  **Anthony:**  
>  **Anthony:**  
>  **Anthony:** enjoy saving the world on your own, I have to kill myself right now immediately thanks


	3. I am (not) Iron Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tony turns to observe Pepper's reaction. "All records of them drop off the face of the earth like they just up and disappeared one day."_
> 
> _"That's," she says slowly, "that's weird, but that doesn't automatically make it a murder, Tony."_
> 
>  _"Doesn't rule it out, either," he says._  
>  \--  
> The fallout of the truth, Anthony's anxiety disorder makes a timely reappearance, and Yinsen just wants Tony Stark to leave him the hell alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions are made of pepper and tony's unresolved romantic tension, anthony has a panic attack, and tony's bad self esteem makes a reappearance.

* * *

The first thing that Tony does after arriving back in Malibu is to revoke Anthony's access, ignoring JARVIS' inquiries. He spends the next three days obsessively upgrading JARVIS' programming, running each line past JARVIS first before stringing them all together - runs the final product by JARVIS once more, and then finally uploads it and waits with bated breath while JARVIS implements the new codes. When that goes swimmingly, Tony reaffirms the list of people allowed into the house, which only has five people: himself, Pepper, Obie, Happy, and Rhodey.

The next eight days are spent designing better sensor arrays. This, Tony thinks, is an arms race. Anthony is way ahead of him - by a decade _at least_ \- but Tony Stark isn't a globally recognized name for kicks and giggles. He has JARVIS analyze the element Anthony showed him, determine what kind of radiation it puts out - an ultimately harmless level that will nonetheless register within three meters, and so Tony designs sensors to pick up on it and installs them throughout the house.

He'll give off the same radiation, too, but Anthony as good as said that Tony will be fine on palladium for at least two years. Or not _fine,_ but he'll survive it, probably. That's more than ample time to refine the sensors and JARVIS' programming. Maybe he'll alter the casing in his chest to put off an additional signal so there is the smallest possible margin for error in identifying who is registering on the sensors.

On the twelfth day, Pepper breaks into the workshop. Well, she doesn't actually _have to_ break in, of course, she has a code for it, she's the only person that does because otherwise Tony has realized that he might never come out or get food, but he values his space very highly.

"Alright, what's going on?" Pepper asks.

"What? Who?" Tony keeps his back to her for a while longer; he feels awkward. Ugly. Like the arc reactor has been rotting in his chest this entire time and might fall out at any second, even though it's just the usual plasma. "Sorry. Did I miss a meeting, or…"

"No, because I canceled everything the moment you came back and immediately went into lockdown," she says.

That's just enough over the line of their usual dynamic that Tony turns off the soldering gun, setting it and the solder down to give Pepper more of his attention. He stops short.

Virginia Potts had always maintained the highest level of professionality between them as possible. Even after he gave her a room in the house so she wouldn't have to make the drive back to her apartment every day, she persisted in wearing the whole stilted getup: heels, business suit, hair done. There had been - a vibe. She'd had a room in his home for two years and about a year in, there had been a vibe. And Pepper had gotten even more painfully professional toward him and Tony had increased his allowance of one night stands, because -

Well, and then Afghanistan. And Pepper walking on eggshells the way she _never_ had as his PA, and then all of this with Anthony.

So Tony is a little shocked to turn and see Pepper wearing what basically amounts to suburban mom jogging wear.

Pepper, her hair tied back into a high ponytail, puts her hands on her hips. "You didn't miss a meeting because I cleared your schedule. Or would have, if you _had_ a schedule, but since you've become a shut-in, I've been refusing all requests to meet you." She smiles. It's the one that should look nice and soft but is a centimeter too wide and doesn't reach her eyes. "Now you've put the house in lockdown for the past two weeks-"

"Twelve days," Tony corrects, out of habit.

Although no stranger to her temper, it's still a bit surprising to have Pepper give him the same kind of look she gives most of his one night stands that make the mistake of overstaying their welcome. "If we're in danger-"

Tony's chest cinches so tight he nearly swoons. "No," he says immediately, getting to his feet. Pepper watches him approach with sharp, measuring eyes, but he's not lying. "No, we're not danger. No one's going to attack us," he says, hesitates for a moment with his hands out, and when she doesn't withdraw, reaches out and gently takes hold of her arms. "This is -"

What is this? Anthony isn't a _threat._ There hasn't even been hide nor hair of his future self since Tony saw him at the House. It's like Anthony has disappeared off the face of the earth - if JARVIS hadn't obviously had records of the man of the future's presence, then Tony would begin to worry that it was just more nightmares.

"... Complicated," he finishes.

The arch look on Pepper's face suggests that she finds that to be a very poor answer. Yeah. Tony had kind of felt the same way.

"I'm. Kind of avoiding someone right now," he admits awkwardly.

"Oh. One of your experts?" Pepper asks, cocking her head and blinking at Tony as if she's allowing him to take as much rope as he pleases.

That's not even funny. Tony _has_ had to avoid people he's consulted with before. It's not his fault that some people are so enamored with his reputation or intelligence that they start - clinging. And getting needy. He's gotten restraining orders against at least five such people, maybe more. He tends to lose track of these kinds of things. Happy would know the number and their faces and probably even their last known location for sure.

"As a matter of fact," Tony says, not able to help himself bristling a little. He lets go of Pepper and steps back, folding his arms - winces, and holds them out slightly.

It's noticeable enough that Pepper's focus wavers slightly, her challenge softening with actual, real concern. She knows he's taken an injury to the chest, but not how extensive it is. Tony isn't sure if she would be more or less concerned if she could see it. Sometimes knowing makes people less worried about things. Sometimes it just makes it worse.

Tony isn't sure where he himself fits on that spectrum, but he always prefers to _know._

Pepper reluctantly sets his problematic health aside. "That's rare that you wouldn't be able to tell before flying out and meeting them," she points out, and he grimaces.

"Okay, look," he says, shifting guiltily. "It was just - some bad news, okay. Some - personal. Personal bad news."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he winces. That's the wrong thing to say if he wants to get out of this conversation scot-free, but - but. Okay, but. It's been twelve days. Tony _knows_ himself. Anthony should have shown up by now, obnoxiously trying to bully Tony into forgiving him. It's what Tony would have done. Has done before. It's not that Tony _wants_ to see his face, he's still mad about it, but.

"What kind of bad news?" Pepper asks, a very delicate balance of concern and honest respect in her face and tone that Tony's always been so incredibly weak to - she wants to know because it bothers him, but she won't push if he won't share it.

The tug of war is on. Tony takes another step back, turning as he lifts one hand to rub harshly at his scalp. Cleaning it with oils specifically for the job won't last much longer, Tony notices, or he'll have to refine the technique, but he can't just - and he especially can't tolerate the idea of someone else washing his hair, even if it's tipped back over a sink or bowl instead of the shower. Distance. Distance feels good right now. Better physical distance when the emotional distance becomes so short.

"Uh," he says, a stupid, childish habit that he can't seem to shake. "Well, it turns out my parents were probably murdered."

"Oh," Pepper says. It's probably the last thing she would have expected, and it shows. "Tony... "

If he turns to her now, he knows from how she says his name, she'll offer him comfort. Reassurance. Sympathy. It's all perversely unacceptable and he finishes the short journey to the glass wall that he uses the most as a screen. They all work the same, of course, but this is the one he prefers. Habit. It's the designs for the sensors he's been building, testing, improving upon. He stares at the schematics, sullen with his hands on his hips.

Pepper breathes softly behind him. After a moment, she stirs. "Alright," she says, calm, concise. "It was supposed to have been a car accident. What proof did they have?"

Anthony hadn't presented any _proof._ He'd more or less calmly laid out the whole situation, explained about Howard setting up the organization that was currently going under the moniker of S.H I.E.L.D, or the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. _'Like most agencies with a lot of power and little to no oversight, they have a goal and drive to achieve it no matter the costs,'_ he'd said with a funny little grimace like every single one Dad made over this or that contract: _have to get funding from somewhere._ A means to an end.

Apparently, they'd been spying on Tony on and off ever since his parents were murdered. Or more likely since he was born, given Howard's importance to them and how highly publicized Tony's milestones were as a child. There was an odd sort of protection in that, he realizes in retrospect: everyone would have noticed immediately if Tony disappeared.

A lot of his assumptions have proven wrong recently. Dad didn't kill Mom, he was fucking around with _alien artifacts,_ had been for years, described an alien element in a way he must have known that Tony would have eventually noticed, Howard _knew_ how he was about patterns. What Tony had dismissed as showboating, showing off, _boasting,_ first in pride and later with resentment… may have been the only protection that Howard knew how to give him: notoriety.

Had Howard suspected that his own agency had been infiltrated by the enemy? All his business trips and days spent in work he couldn't talk to Mom or Tony about? Tony remembers sneering about it, that his government job meant more to him than his family. Howard drinking himself to a blind stupor when he was home, usually while interrogating Tony on his activities.

"He was a shit dad," Tony says bluntly - vehemently. Just because, in retrospect, with Tony's life experiences now, he can see what _might_ be a clearer image of who Howard was, doesn't change that their relationship was dysfunctional at best. Howard never had time for him until he had drank himself stupid, and then it was nothing but interrogations and reproach. "But he was smart. He was building things, you know." He glances at Pepper, her carefully neutral expression. "Just like people want to kill me, they wanted to kill Howard, too."

Tony gestures and JARVIS helpfully displays all the information that he'd been able to gather on that night in December. There's no much of substance. Mostly articles. Obituaries. Of course there's some internet noise about how a _car accident_ that kills the most prominent mind on America is at least a little suspicious. Anyone who ventures to say so is shouted down as a conspiracy theorist. Tony's own survival is usually touted as proof to the contrary. Some suppose he arranged their deaths himself.

"In retrospect," he says mildly, shifting on his feet, "I'm surprised the autopsy reports were never leaked at any point in time. I'd been - grateful, actually. Wasn't exactly my favorite topic."

"Why didn't anyone?"

Bless Pepper Potts. Tony's pretty sure she already has an idea, but she knows how to lead him. "Well, I called down to the records office myself," he says, gesturing. Another article comes up: a fire. "If they ever existed at all, they were likely 'lost' and then that 'loss' covered with a fire that happened a few months later. I - of course - asked for the name of the coroner who would have been working at where the bodies were taken, but - get this: a heart attack, a year later." A picture of the man, and the obituary for him. "First responders on the scene? No longer working in those fields. Five men. Two officers, the EMTs, and the driver." No pictures this time, but records of employment, certifications, rent leases - JARVIS displays them all, ties them in different colored strands in a web before ending loose and ragged ends, like strings abruptly cut.

Tony turns to observe Pepper's reaction. "All records of them drop off the face of the earth like they just up and disappeared one day."

"That's," she says slowly, "that's weird, but that doesn't automatically make it a murder, Tony."

"Doesn't rule it out, either," he says.

She exhales, glancing at the web of information with a slightly daunted expression. "If it is what you think it is," she says, "that's - a lot. That's a lot to cover-up, Tony. If this is - are the identities real?"

Tony smiles thinly. When Pepper first started working with him, he doubts she would have asked something like that. "As far as I can tell. I mean. This is the late eighties - early nineties. Records are easy to fake. Doesn't really matter since according to my source, there is an entity - an organization - involved that could create and then disappear people as needed."

"Okay," she says. It sounds dangerously like placating him, but Pepper would never. "What does this person have to gain from telling you this? Are they threatening you?"

"Threa - no. No, no, he's not threatening me." The opposite, probably. Anthony had been loathed to tell him. He'd probably predicted the outburst, but that begs the question why he went about it the way he did. First that fucked up sense of humor in telling him a sob story about his parents' _murderer,_ and now this: having Pepper worried about his sanity because he'd expected Anthony to seek him out again. It's nothing at all like ripping off a band-aid. _That_ is just like him, isn't it.

"Then why the lockdown?" Pepper asks suspiciously.

"I just - I didn't want to see him show up here," Tony says flatly, disgusted with the situation. More accurately: disgusted with himself. It seems a little childish now that Pepper is actually interrogating him on it, but Anthony had broken in before, or been let in by JARVIS, either way. And Tony didn't think he could look him in the face without doing or saying something more or worse. He turns from the web of information and goes back to the worktable where the new sensor he's been developing sits, abandoned, solder already cooled.

"So what does he get out of it?" she asks.

Well, obviously Anthony wants him to save the world. They hadn't even gotten that far, thanks to how he decided to break the news about Tony's-

"Oh," Tony says. "Oh. Son of a bitch. I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are," Pepper effortlessly agrees, reliable as the sun rising in the morning. "Why are you an idiot this time?"

He rubs his hands over his face, dragging them down and steepling them below his chin. "Of course he won't come back. I threw a paperweight at him."

"You threw a - why would you throw a paperweight at him?" Pepper demands, a little shocked.

"It was handy, you know, murdered parents, I was feeling a little twitchy - never mind that!" He waves his hands at her, trying to fend her off when she hasn't even moved a single inch. It's her gaze. He blames that. It makes him feel even shittier than he already does. "I need to - JARVIS! Any hits for his location?"

It never occurred once to Tony to wonder about where Anthony had gone. He'd been expecting Anthony to show back up like a bad penny - it's what he would have done. He'd just thought - a few meals, and then overnight, and then Anthony should have been back. But if Tony isn't really the same man who flew out for the Jericho demo, then what would - Tony's going to have to stop relying on Anthony acting anything like him. He's _seen_ the suit, though only that once, that up close. Anthony sneered about his own naivety and implied that several organs ran on the arc reactor now. There's a lot Tony doesn't know, doesn't have data for, and he keeps forgetting to carry 'x' to both sides of the equation while balancing it. Fuck. That's a three year old's mistake, not _Tony Stark's._ He's an idiot. A useless little shit.

"None, Sir," JARVIS answers.

"Tony," Pepper says, "What is this about?"

"I have to see a man about a dog," he says, turning away and hurrying toward the door. "JARVIS, the accounts?"

"No activity that hasn't been authorized by Ms. Potts."

"Well, fuck."

He shoots up the stairs away from the workshop and then turns in place for an agitated moment, thwarted by his own lack of direction. "Okay, _think,_ " he snaps irritably, grasping at the air like he can snatch the answer out from between atoms. "Think! You're a genius in a state of the art suit, stranded - no money, no resources, with _no one-"_ He freezes. Not entirely true. Mostly true. "JARVIS: Ho Yinsen."

"A moment, please, Sir."

"A moment!" Tony barks incredulously, feeling like he's vibrating in place. "Forget it. He's definitely there. The - the jet. Alert the immigration officials and get the e-Visa ready. We're going to Canada."

"We're what, Mr. Stark?"

Tony turns. It's Happy, dressed similarly to Pepper. There's no evidence of sweat on his skin or clothes. They'd probably been planning to drag him out of the workshop and throw him around the personal gym a few times. That's new. Pepper never gets involved in the personal gym things and Happy only indulges Tony when his head is being particularly fucked up about it. "Lockdown?" Tony asks skeptically.

Happy spreads his arms: _what can you do?_ "She asked."

"Why are you weaponizing my PA. Don't weaponize my PA," Tony says. His flat tone does not accurately represent the indignation he feels about this. If anyone is going to weaponize his PA, it should be him.

"Oh, I am already weaponized," Pepper says lightly as she comes up the workshop stairs behind him. It's the tone that's on the dangerous side of reproach and it makes him very nervous."Tony, where are you going?"

"Man dog," he reminds her, turning back to Happy. "Oh, come on! Lockdown over. It's over. No one's coming to do anything."

"Well, you were making us all very nervous, sir," Happy says. He's deliberately keeping his body loose and his tone non-confrontational. Tony hates it. "You hate lockdown."

"I hate -" Well, that's true. Tony's never initiated lockdown on his home for longer than the few hours it took to test it, or for the police to show up and remove whatever overly determined fan or paparazzi or - whatever - had driven him to it. Twelve days? Twelve days. "I lost track of time," he says defensively. "I've been in the workshop. And now I need to meet a man about a dog, so."

"Your jet is being prepped, Sir. It will be ready by the time you arrive."

He claps his hands. "Thank you, JARVIS," he says brightly. "Glad to know I can rely on someone around here." Swiveling his hands down, he dives past the two of them like parting the Red Sea. "I'll be back -" Well, who knows, and he waves his hand in the air to indicate this. He could never get away with this kind of behavior if he weren't technically their employer. Sometimes being the boss has benefits.

-0-

Months ago, Tony and Yinsen had been balanced on the edge of Death's blade. They'd pushed their captors' willingness to wait and watch as far as it would go, and then it was do-or-die. Tony always did his best work under pressure. He'd figured Yinsen was the same, given the electromagnet in his heart.

Later, he thinks that Yinsen had probably been designing something like this for a long time, and Tony was merely the lucky recipient of the prototype. Tony's weapons had been killing men Yinsen was trying to heal for far too long. Wasn't that bitter irony? Tony had been building things, profiting from things that were killing innocent people. Only because of those people had Yinsen devised a way to save their lives. And yet it is Tony who benefits from it.

He had known what he was building. Oh - maybe he hadn't realized about the shrapnel entering the bloodstream. The fragmentation - he'd thought of it as a shotgun scatter. Of course it was meant to kill people. He just - knowing and _knowing_ are different.

Then he and Yinsen had pushed their luck as far as it could go, it was do-or-die, and then - the base came under attack. The iron armor wouldn't have initialized in enough time. Tony knows that. And then the high tech suit with glaring blue eyes had pried open the door and Anthony had revealed himself.

"Sorry, Doc," he'd said, looking at Yinsen, "no need to sacrifice yourself today."

He'd put out a call to the nearest American military base - 'Tony Stark Is Here.' The Ten Rings base is the first and last band of terrorist that Anthony kills to the last man, and then instructs Tony on destroying the evidence of the iron armor and his weapons both. "Every last piece," he'd said grimly. "You don't want to go through this same thing with that armor instead of your Jericho."

And then he'd left Tony to Rhodey's tender mercies while he'd flown Yinsen out under the radar. Yinsen's part in this never had to be known.

Of course Tony knows exactly where Yinsen is because it's happening on Tony's dime. There had been some disagreement over that, Tony thinks, but Anthony had handled it with ruthless efficiency and for _some reason,_ Yinsen actually seems to like him. More than he likes Tony, anyway, which had just been weird. In retrospect, they were kind of two peas in a pod - both had lost their entire worlds. Tony thinks he understand why Yinsen had planned to get himself killed in the escape.

So Tony is not at all surprised to see Yinsen's disapproving face open the door.

"Hi," he says awkwardly, accidentally fumbling straight into rakish charm like he's a neighbor come to borrow a cup of sugar, or - whatever. Tony's never actually been in that position, but he's pretty sure that's a thing.

Yinsen arches his brow and politely steps aside. "Please come in, Mr. Stark. I hope you are here to collect our mutual friend. He has overstayed his welcome by far and yet refuses to leave."

Well, that _does_ sound like him. "I'm very sorry about him," Tony says, perhaps putting it on a bit thick. "He doesn't really have a lot of places to go and we had a - a bit of a - you know. When you've spent thirty years with someone sometimes just the way they blink puts you on edge."

In retrospect, not the best thing to say to a man who had lost his family not all that long ago, but if it strikes Yinsen that way, he doesn't even flick a lash. His expression manages to convey a great deal of awareness and an even greater level of aggressive apathy. Well then.

It's a nice apartment that Anthony arranged for Yinsen - modest, but spacious at the same time. Pale and airy. He can see how it would be appealing after The Cave. He only has to take three steps inside before he can see into the living room, where Anthony is sat in front of the TV, pretending preoccupation with it. He's dressed in sweats. It makes him look incredibly sloppy and depressed, which almost might be the way he's curled in on himself and staring blankly at the screen.

This is why Tony prefers to wear suits outside of the workshop. Anything else seems to make him look like a slob.

"Alright," Tony says, moving to stand so close to the chair that his knee knocks into Anthony's. "You heard the man, you've overstayed your welcome. Come on." He gestures.

Anthony, hand curled around the back of his neck, slowly rolls his head to stare up at Tony with black look.

"What," Tony says. He splays his hands. "Oh, come on. Look. You spent fifteen minutes giving me some tearjerker human interest piece about the guy that killed our parents. Are you telling me _you_ wouldn't throw a paperweight at the guy that did that?"

Something in the kitchen whistles. Tony glances that way, seeing that Yinsen has closed and locked the door. Judging by the sounds, he's attending to whatever is happening in the kitchen.

Anthony gets to his feet, somehow managing to step around Tony so they don't even knock into each other despite how Tony had been practically standing over him. "The paperweight isn't the problem here," he says, moving around the living room - lingers briefly at the window to peer outside: street, buildings, sky, street, sky. "I knew how you would react. I know how _I_ reacted."

"Okay," Tony drawls doubtfully. He doesn't believe him. "Alright, fine. Come on. Talk to me. What? You're too good for a spare room in Malibu? Maybe it's not up to your standards but I am all for improving things that can be improved. Shake things up a bit."

"Tea?" Yinsen offers as he comes back into the living room. Oh, so the whistling was water. A kettle. Nice. Antiquated, but -

Tony waves him off but Anthony steps around him and joins Yinsen back at the low slung coffee table. Tony's mildly glad that he had resisted the urge to step on it earlier. Probably wouldn't have gone over well with either of them.

"Since when do you have a taste for tea," Tony asks grumpily as he joins them, watching Anthony fold his legs under him like this is a yoga session or something equally weird and New Age. There's no way his own legs are doing that. Just sitting cross legged on the floor is uncomfortable enough. There's just not enough room for him to stretch them out and Yinsen has taken the only chair. Thinking so, he adds, "How long have you _been_ here. Please tell me you haven't been playing house with Yinsen for almost two weeks."

"No," Yinsen answers, tipping tea out of the kettle into the cups he's set out. It's all very British style, not that Tony honestly expected different.

"Cambridge, right?" Tony asks all the same.

Yinsen's face is affirmative, his glance cool. Tony winces. He's supposed to be leaving with Anthony, not having tea - and if Anthony has overstayed his welcome, then that probably goes double for him.

Tony picks up the cup of tea and leans unsubtly into Anthony's space. "Do we really have to do this whole awkward song and dance?" he asks behind the tea cup, as if Yinsen won't hear him perfectly. When Anthony just gives him the narrow kind of look that Tony doesn't think he himself has ever given anyone in his life, Tony grimaces, uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Come on," he cajoles, "I said I was sorry. Let's let the nice Doctor have some peace and quiet. I'll buy you a nice suit, we can fly back home - I'll take the jet, you take your fancy - armor... thing. The - the Iron Man?" He's pretty sure he remembers Anthony calling it the Iron Man. Lowering the cup with a clunk of his wrist against the table, he says, "Seriously. The Iron Man? Do I even want to untangle all of that. It's not even iron."

"Just 'Iron Man'," Anthony corrects lightly, tipping milk into his tea. Tony hasn't drank tea and especially not tea with milk in it since he was - what? Ten? And Jarvis made it. "And it wasn't my idea, it was the media's. I just went with it."

"You let the media choose your superhero name," Tony says flatly.

Anthony tilts his head dismissively. "It has a certain style. Anyway, it's my brand now. You build a suit, you call it something else."

"Oh, okay, I - I do want to build a suit," he allows, because he does, all this jet business is frustrating and slow and surprisingly expensive, although he does have actual billions of dollars to burn however he feels like, "I do. I want to build a suit, but at this point it'll just feel like a cheap knock off."

Anthony glances at him, blatantly looks him up and down - or no, he's _studying_ Tony, reading him. "Alright, point," he acknowledges, "but I'm _you-_ "

"You're really not," Tony interrupts easily.

"You really aren't," Yinsen agrees.

Anthony looks deeply offend. Or he would, but Tony calculates it at about seventy percent artifice. Some of it the offense is real, but mostly he's playing the waiting game to see where this is all going, goading them into reacting first and giving him the lay of the land.

It's the kind of game that Tony prefers playing with interviewers, reporters and other people he meets at the various conventions he gets invited to. He does it to newbies at Stark Industries. He does it to people he runs into on the streets. At Galas. He does it to people he doesn't know and doesn't trust.

He's going to have to have a very fun phone call with Yinsen later.

"The world needs Iron Man," he says flatly.

"Yeah, about that," Tony says delicately, feeling his way through this. Anthony narrows his eyes suspiciously, and Tony grimaces, fidgeting before turning his hand over, palm up. "I don't think that's _me._ "

The change that comes over Anthony is immediate and immense. His eyes are very large and very dark as he stares at Tony: it's failing to compute. There's a loose edge to his expression, a slackness around his eyes and his mouth, his face very pale against the darkness of his hair.  "You and the suit are one," Anthony says. A little lost, a little numb.

This is… not going well. Tony turns more toward him, trying to proceed with caution. "No," he says, very gently but very seriously, " _you_ and the suit are one. I'm not a part of that. Not anymore."

Anthony reels. There's not a better word for it, the way his head tips back and he pulls away, like he can't look at Tony. And then he shuts down, drawing back into himself, arms flattening against his sides as he sets the cup down and clasps his hand over his mouth, eyes flickering back and forth as he stares into the middle distance directly above the table. Tony kind of wants to put a bracing hand on his shoulder but that isn't really the right approach for him. He looks to Yinsen, at a loss. Is he always like this? Is this what it looks like? Given Yinsen's unperturbed expression, he's seen them rapidly recalculate for new data before.

"Hey, look. Anthony," Tony says tentatively, then again when he doesn't twitch. "Anthony. _Tony._ " Anthony startles, blinking at him a little wildly. "You're _already_ Iron Man," he says, flat, firm, uncompromising. "Let's be honest here. Why would I - You've already invented the wheel. What's the point of having me reinvent it? It's yours. It's _you_ \- your life's work. You know the armor and it's systems like the back of your hand. Why -"

He pauses, averting his eyes while presses his knuckle against his mouth for a second, because this isn't - this isn't easy. He wasn't lying. He wants to build a suit, but. Tony masters himself and locks gazes with Anthony again. "The world _has_ Iron Man. That's you. But it's got me, too, and not to blow my own horn, but yes, to blow my own horn: I can do what I do best - finding a new - a better way. There's no point in having two Tony Starks if we're wasting them on the same project. Right?"

"We can't just spring me out of a cabbage patch," Anthony objects, which isn't exactly a refusal, but, "I can't just-" He still looks wild around the eyes, tense at the corners of the mouth. He's running scared.

"We can and we will," Tony disagrees, blinking at him. "We wouldn't be the first to fake up someone's identity."

The bark of laughter that comes out of Anthony is jagged and lacks even a shred of humor. He's kind of listing sideways. He doesn't - okay, he looks really bad. Ill. He's breathing kind of funny.

"He's having a panic attack," Yinsen observes calmly.

Anthony shoots to his feet, jarring the coffee table with his knee and spilling both of their cups. Tony follows him up, chest cinching tight, but Anthony recoils from him, ducking by them both and into the kitchen.

"Wha - What do I do?" Tony demands, looking helplessly at Yinsen. He can hear Anthony thumping and crashing in the kitchen, and choked off little wheezes. "What do you do for a panic attack!"

Unmoved, cup in hand, Yinsen says, "trying to do something may only make it worse. It depends if Mr. Stark trusts you at all."

Well, isn't that the height of irony. Most people would be able to trust themselves, and yet here it was: Tony was the one who triggered the attack in the first place. Yinsen's probably right that trying to do something about it will just make it worse, but - on the other hand, he can't just really stand there and do _nothing._

The urge to go over the low table is powerful, but Tony manages to keep it to just hoping awkwardly around the edge and Yinsen's chair in his rush to get to the kitchen. It's more of a kitchenette, really, and Anthony has wedged himself into the corner in front of the dishwasher, face tucked into his knees and his hands crammed over to seal the cracks. He looks small and fragile and _dangerous,_ tense and wheezing like an engine about to boil over.

"Okay," Tony says, thrusting is hands out, keeping his distance. "Look, ah-"

"Shut up," a sharp snarl between wheezes, "I just - I just need -"

Tony effortless fills in the blank: Anthony just needs a moment. Some space. "Okay," he says, "okay. Whatever you need. Okay." He hovers for an uncertain, useless moment before it occurs to him to finally straighten out of his awkward crouch and turn away. There's nothing for him to do but wait it out, but it feels wrong it just - leave him shut up in the kitchen even though Tony knows he would hate to be seen doing… whatever a panic attack has driven him to. It involves a lot less screaming and hysterics than Tony would have assumed.

He ends up righting the electric can opener that Anthony must have knocked to the ground, and the sealed bottles of condiments in plastic squeeze containers. Well. He assumes they're condiments. The bottles are unmarked. Then, still looking for something to do, he opens up the cabinets. It takes some searching to find where Yinsen keeps the glasses, but he gets one down and fills it with water from the faucet.

Before he can make the mistake of actually offering it, Tony remembers that Anthony asked to be left alone, more or less. He passes the glass of water from hand to hand few times before taking a drink of it himself. He polishes off half of the glass out of nerves before he sinks to the floor on his heels, and looking at nothing in particular, begins to talk. There isn't much to talk about, Tony thinks - JARVIS' upgrades, the new sensors he's developing. Pepper training with Happy, even though she's already completed the Stark Industries Workplace Violence course with the highest marks and recommendations by the instructors. Anthony would already know everything else.

Thankfully before he exhausts his topics, Anthony stops wheezing and eventually leans back against the dishwasher. Remembering the glass in his hand, Tony thrusts it out, only it's. Just about empty. Anthony's expression is almost blurry, like he's been drugged, but he manages to level an arch look at Tony over the state of the glass anyway. Tony grimaces and makes it back to his feet.

"Pepper makes the whole PA thing look easy," he says as he dumps the glass and fills it with fresh water.

"Pepper makes everything look easy," Anthony mutters, curling slightly away from where Tony holds out the glass. He glances to the floor. "Set it down, please." It takes Tony a second to process the request and then to step forward and set it down beside Anthony. Only after he's backed up does Anthony pick up the glass; he makes a motion like he's going to press it to his face, but it passes and he sips methodically.

Without the glass, Tony's hands feel empty and restless. He begins to flatten and tug at the hem of his t-shirt. He'd left home in a hurry and hadn't waited long enough to change into a suit, but - well. It's not like Anthony is any better off. At least Tony's in jeans. Anthony should be ashamed to be seen outside Yinsen's apartment.

"We look ridiculous in sweats," Tony says abruptly, not looking at him. "If you're not coming back to Malibu - which would be the optimal outcome here, you realize - at least let me buy you a suit so paps aren't catching you on the street like that and wondering why Tony Stark is in Canada."

"What," Anthony says, brittle, "not concerned about someone in my condition flying the armor?"

Tony thinks that he wants to hunt down whoever were Anthony's friends in the future and give them something to think about. That's the. That's the irrational, emotional response he has to that - to that particular tone. Logically, rationally, he thinks whoever asked that might have had a point. He's seen a bit of what the Iron Man armor can do. Not much. But the aftermath. And what the armor had looked like in the aftermath.

"You're kidding, right?" he asks flatly, looking up to stare Anthony right in the eye. "You've programmed redundancies into the armor in case you have one of those while flying it."

Anthony's face spasms and smooths. The particular flat stretch of his mouth - neither smile nor grimace - is answer enough. He looks exhausted. Worn through. "Yeah, a few," he says.

It's what Tony would have done, if Tony knew there was a chance of having something like that happen to him while in the armor. They aren't the same, but they aren't all that different.

"You know I've always been more comfortable being the one building the tech and seeing it put to good use," he says abruptly. "Being in the middle of the action is - well. You know."

"You just don't like taking orders," Anthony says flatly.

"No, I don't," he agrees with a companionable huff. It's probably not the last time they'll talk about Iron Man. It's difficult for Tony to understand just how something could have become such an integral part of his own identity the way Anthony was with Iron Man, but it's clearly very important to him. To the point where when Tony had refused the armor, it had - well, for a reaction like that? He must have felt like he'd prematurely killed the world.

But Tony stands by what he said: Anthony is Iron Man. There's no reason to send Tony back down that path if it hadn't worked the first time - and the world hasn't _lost_ Iron Man, whatever Anthony seems to think: he's here. Anthony can keep being that person. That superhero. He can have the redemption arcs and the adulation. Tony knows where his place is, and that's not it.

"You know, Yinsen is probably going to poison your tea if you stay here," he prods, rocking on his feet and cocking his head.

Anthony glances at him and grimaces, tilting his glass. "Yeah, probably. Malibu?"

"Malibu," Tony agrees with a smile that may be a touch thin for all that it's genuine. "And answers," he amends, trying on his best Potts Impression. "I can't really save the world if I don't know what I'm saving it from."

"Oh, well, now I'm looking forward to it," he says with a grimace, draining the glass and getting to his feet. But unlike Tony, he's not going to hide in a in-resort casino until the ceremony is over and someone comes and fetches him with his trophy in hand. Tony can tell by the set of his feet and the straight line of his shoulders.

Things forged in fire often come out the stronger for it. But even so: if they take the wrong kind of beating on the anvil - if the blacksmith is reckless, or clumsy - they can still shatter.

Fixing the hack job done on Anthony will be - difficult. Difficult, but not impossible, because Tony is very, very good at what he does. Plus a few people who are probably more than up for the challenge if he sells them on it just right. So.  

Malibu.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tony:** Look I just didn't want him to come here and be obnoxious at me until I forgave him!!  
>  **Pepper:** Have you considered .... maybe .... you're the one in the wrong  
>  **Tony:**  
>  **Tony:** oh shit you're right. It's _me! I'm_ the one who is supposed to be obnoxiously badgering _him_ for forgiveness! Shit! I fucked up! 
> 
> to be fair, Anthony could have picked a better method of relaying the information. he just has so much WS data he was dumping it and also stalling on the whole murdered parents thing. 
> 
> imo Yinsen has a lot of resentment and otherwise complicated feelings toward Tony Stark, and now that they're not in a hostage situation, he's able to start working through them. Tony has caused him a lot of grief, after all. This is not the last we've seen of him. 
> 
> The whole 'twelve days of lockdown' was entirely an accident but I stand by it.


	4. regarding self-care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anthony's fingers rattle over the keys in a restless, almost anxious manner, huffing humorlessly. "Everyone has a dark side," he says, tone even stickier: iron and red and white and broken glass. "It's just a matter of aiming it at the right people."_
> 
> _"Huh," Tony says, his hands clenching on the back of couch. "Well. That's incredibly unnerving."_  
>  \--  
> Tony's turn ons include being treated like a princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant to get something accomplished this chapter, but after having a mild crisis about my writing abilities, it ended up just being hair washing and future!tony being really alarming.

* * *

 

Of course, Malibu is easier said than done. First of all, Tony is in no hurry to get back and deal with the fallout of telling Pepper about what Anthony said happened to his parents, and then suddenly leaving to parts unknown. There's also the small matter of figuring out a way to introduce his future self to Pepper and Happy and Obie, the only small respite being that Rhodey will be busy with the Force for a while and won't be eager to deal with Tony while he's still so disappointed in him - although, probably, that's just a matter of time.

"It's just a matter of time," Tony tells Anthony while stalking into the single suite he's got them. Normally, he'd get Anthony a separate suite in respect for the fact that Tony prefers to have absolute freedom to go out and do whatever without disturbing anyone else - but going out and getting drunk and sleeping around isn't really on his itinerary right now. "I know what they're like. Rhodey's still mad at me about the weapons and one of those generals of his will send him to my door to try to change my mind."

It's happened before. Sometimes Tony lets himself be persuaded because - well. Tony knows what it's like to have people ride you ass. If it's not too awful, he can take steps. Do things. Try to get people off Rhodey's ass as a favor for a friend or something like that.

That's just not going to happen this time, he knows. He's not changing his stance on weapons production. No part of that is negotiable.

Pivoting, he puts his hands out; he means to take hold of Anthony's lapels, but Anthony comes to a wary stop just out of reach and Tony thinks better of it. "I want to do more than not just produce weapons," Tony tells him seriously, and this is - he drops his eyes, grasping aimlessly like he can find courage in the space between them, grasp it right out of Anthony's chest for himself. "I want to open a branch of the Foundation in Afghanistan," he says, and abruptly turns away.

"For the people in towns like Gulmira," Anthony says.

Even as he stalks across the suite to where the living room is situated, open and inviting, Tony splays out his arms. "For people in towns like Gulmira," he echoes, still feeling the bitter bite of that revelation.

Yinsen would have seen his family when he leaves there his  _ ass. _ He lets his hands fall and observes the layout of the living area. It's actually kind of nice. Open and a bit spacious. Stupidly formal, in an untouched magazine photoset kind of way. It's easier to contemplate that than think of Yinsen's walking dead. 

"And," he adds with one finger in the air, finally looking back to where Anthony stands, "if I'm lucky, when Yinsen's done here, I can fund his work… undoing all the damage my weapons have done."

That part comes out a bit stilted. Knowing and saying aloud are two different things, and saying it - well. That freshens the impact of it. He won't flinch, of course: it's his fault. He built the weapons, which were either stolen or… in either case. He's pathetically grateful for the carefully neutral cast of Anthony's face, even if he doesn't deserve it. He's not sure he wants to know why and where Anthony's learned to be so  _ kind. _ Tony certainly isn't.

Then Anthony says, "What do you mean 'done here?' You mean therapy? You…  _ do  _ understand that there's no 'done here' with therapy?"

"Wh - Well," Tony sputters, because he  _ doesn't. _ Although come to think of it, the last time one of his employees got kidnapped thanks to a project they'd been working on - that was a while ago. And Tony had to sign off on the continued expenses because her allowance for it had capped out, and Pepper had indicated it was still necessary. Had he increased the cap company-wide? He should have. He should check on that. "I mean," he continues, blinking. "What? Yinsen can't - how long is he thinking about saying in Canada? He can't stay here forever!"

Anthony considers that, then shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Well, he probably could," he disagrees thoughtfully. "Especially if you set him up with a lab and interactive holographic diagrams of the wounds you're expecting him to fix. Transmitting the data back and forth - it's not like he  _ has _ to be in Afghanistan itself, and shipping is a thing. You know.  _ If _ he feels inclined to revisit the awful time he was abducted by terrorists and forced to operate on someone that it took a few days mix up chloroform for. Which. Interesting choice given the whole heart thing."

Tony had frankly spent so much time trying to ignore, forget, and repress everything that to have it read back to him is - "Was he trying to kill us?" he demands a little dizzily.

"Hard to say," he says with an ambivalent shrug, apparently untroubled by the very idea even though he'd been camped out on Yinsen's nonexistent couch for an indeterminate amount of time. "There is 'first, do no harm' - but Yinsen is only human, after all. And he had to have some idea of what Ten Rings wanted with us."

Death via heart complications brought on by uncontrolled administration of chloroform is a lot more deniable than intentionally killing him, Tony thinks. But at the same time, the man had his hands  _ inside Tony's rib cage. _ Had cut it open and broken out bone to fit in an electromagnet to stop the shrapnel from shredding his heart apart. Tony's had x-rays done since he escaped, although he'd hardly needed visual evidence for what he already felt. The surgery that Yinsen had performed should have killed him, even without the subpar conditions. Tony's own missile should have killed him.

Well, he already knew he is alive for a reason. He even knows what that reason is. Anthony's already told him.

"I need a shower," Tony says abruptly. "And something to drink."

He leaves Anthony to his own devices in the suite, retreating to the bathroom with the bag of his personal things. He runs the shower on hot until the room is filled with steam thick enough that it's a struggle to breathe with his decreased lung capacity. It isn't so bad with water hot enough to scald. None of it should have been a problem in the first place, except habit would take over if he stepped into the shower and - well, he is sympathetic to Anthony's panic attack, even though Tony hasn't actually had one yet. It's no more fun from the outside than the inside, really.

_ Once. _ They'd done it to him all of once. Tony had never actually drowned, for all that the battery kept shorting and shocking him when the connections to the electromagnet had gotten wet. He'd been returned to The Cave and Yinsen's care, and the two of them had to perform maintenance on the electromagnet. Tony's hair had still been dripping wet in the frigid chill.

Tony mops at the mirror, the condensation so thick on it that it dripples off in streaks. For some reason, he half expects to get a bit weirded out about his reflection after dealing with Anthony for the last few hours, but - there's no disconnect. Tony grimaces at himself, tilts his head from side to side, and then leans in and pulls at the side of his face with his fingers. He has the  _ beginnings _ of crows eyes. They're much more noticeable when he smiles. The hair, though - his beard.

If Anthony is going to play body double to Tony, then they'll have to look as much alike as possible. They can compromise on the beard, it grows quickly enough, but it'll be quicker to cut Tony's hair shorter to match Anthony's than to wait for Anthony's hair to grow. It's not  _ that _ much shorter, Tony thinks - but a bit untidy, like Anthony used to have it cropped close but hasn't had time to maintain it in several months.

"Well," Tony says, smiling crookedly at the mirror. "If it comes to that, I'll make sure to keep up appearances during the apocalypse." He can't quite stifle the reflexive revulsion. The guilt. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly. "Haircut," he reminds himself. "Haircut." And he can't exactly get away with oiling shorter hair, like he can right now. He could certainly call down to the desk and have someone pick something up for him, or dry shampoo, but.

Lowering his hand, he takes his measure in the reflection. He has a world to save. He can face getting his hair wet.  _ It's such a stupid, simple thing, _ he thinks, smearing his hand over the glass, rivulets of water streaming out from under his thumb, until finally the brilliant cyan of the reactor in his chest reflects. That, too. Anthony's right. He has to be at his best.

People who must save the world can do nothing less.

But he's not alone.

Settling a loose pair of lounging pants onto his hips, Tony turns the shower off, and with the towel draped around his shoulders and mostly obscuring the reactor - not completely, but mostly - he leaves the bathroom. While he was busy with Yinsen and Anthony, the overnight bag packed on every one of Tony's planes had already been delivered ahead of time to the hotel suite. There were two - one that had clothes, a few pairs of shoes, and snacks packed in it - the one that Tony had taken to the bathroom. The other was a simple laptop, equipped to connect to the Stark Industries servers - to JARVIS' in an emergency, though hardly by default - locked and secured.

Naturally, Anthony had no difficulty in cracking it.

"I'd be worried that you remember the authentication equation I've been using," Tony says, "but considering, I think I should have been more worried if you couldn't."

He steels himself, but Anthony barely spares a glance toward him, and doesn't even for a second look at the reactor glowing brightly from between the halves of the towel. "Well, you're not wrong," he says. "You would have stopped using it in a few months in favor of something even more complex."

"More complex than a readily changing password based on an algorithm that doesn't even get solved mathematically?" Tony asks skeptically even as he circles around the couch to peer over Anthony's shoulder. It's the Stark Industries servers. He blinks to realize he's looking at department financial records, and shipping stamps. Tony had never been particularly concerned with that aspect, satisfied enough to worry with designing and approving projects, and selling them to potential buyers as needed. The more in-depth aspects of managing a company had been a little much to keep track of on top of that. No one wanted Stark Industries to fail, so he'd more or less trusted his people to run the company with that in mind. Well - with plenty of internal audits and investigations as necessary. It had always proven to be enough to drive out most moles and corporate sabotage attempts.

Well, Tony had thought so, but he remembers Anthony sneering about his naivety.

"There were some changes in personnel," he says vaguely, making a play at ambivalence. Tony stills, though, dropping his eyes to his future self, the deliberately loose slope of his shoulders and the tight cords of back of his neck. He hears the sticky drip-drop in the words, the same as when Anthony had talked about sweeping for bugs. There's a reason he had considered Anthony a threat at first, and he hasn't forgotten that.

"It's when you talk like  _ that  _ that people like to call you the Merchant of Death, you know," Tony says. Light. Almost teasing. He's not teasing one bit.

Anthony's fingers rattle over the keys in a restless, almost anxious manner, huffing humorlessly. "Everyone has a dark side," he says, tone even stickier: iron and red and white and broken glass. "It's just a matter of aiming it at the right people."

"Huh," Tony says, his hands clenching on the back of couch. "Well. That's incredibly unnerving." Probably something he should pursue, but at a later date when Anthony hasn't been stewing over whatever - or whomever - pissed him off. Shifting uneasily on his feet, he says, "I need a haircut."

Anthony tips the laptop, and Tony realizes that he's using the reflection to look at him, instead of turning in his seat. "Okay?" he says skeptically.

Tony grasps at the ends of the towel. He doesn't do anything as obvious as clench his jaw or swallow. Tells like that would have gutted him years ago in the business. If Anthony can look him in the eye and admit to failing to save the world, then Tony can do at least this much. "I don't know that you remember," he says lightly, "but I'm the tiniest bit hydrophobic at the moment."

It takes only a split second, and Anthony leans over, bracing his elbow on the couch so he can turn and peer up at Tony. It's a bit weird to watch someone eye him over. It's a habit he cultivated purely to unsettle people, and incidentally forgot how to turn off. It definitely works exactly the way it's supposed to. He's hyper aware of the bared arc reactor, the reddened skin around the ill fitting casing - bizarrely: his naked shoulders. The hair that's fallen into loose, greasy curls after the steam of the bathroom.

Anthony blinks at him, then says, "Well, okay." He sets the laptop aside and gets to his feet.

Which is how Tony ends up back in the bathroom, sitting on a stool that Anthony had pulled from the counter that divided the kitchenette from the rest of the suite. Tension is tightening his chest around the reactor. His skin feels cold in the moist air, the steam still dissipating. His fingers, his hands, tremble and shake until he presses them into the meat of his thigh.

Anthony stands in front of him with his arms crossed almost uncomfortably across his chest. "You know," he says, "there's facing your fears and then there's misjudging the depth of the water and diving in headfirst."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for your concern," Tony bites out, and then, sharper, through a snarl of his mouth: "it's  _ water. _ "

The expression that crosses over Anthony's face is eerily familiar - one Pepper has started making recently. On Anthony, it rings more true to the one he'd occasionally see cross Mom's face when Howard was being particularly pigheaded about something. Good god. Did Pepper actually learn that from him?

"Don't make that face," Tony says promptly, a bit weirded out. "Never make that face. I can't believe I make that face. This is killing me. Forget that. How did you get over it, then?"

"It was one of the conditions for the armor," Anthony says, eyes on Tony's hands, the sink, the mirror, and then Tony's eyes. "If I couldn't even get over my own hangups, how was I supposed to be strong enough to save anyone?" There's a tension across his chest and shoulders that doesn't betray itself in his neck or in his fingers. He glances at the sink again and adds, "Although actually washing my hair did come a bit later. Pepper helped."

Oh, well, good, Tony apparently doesn't have to waterboard himself all over again in some bizarre act of self-flagellation. That's great. Perfect. Not being Iron Man is looking more and more like the better, saner choice, frankly speaking.

"I'm pretty sure that's not part of Pepper's contract," he says, not entirely sure if he's all that surprised or just jealous.

"Oh, it very much was not part of Pepper's contract," he agrees, meeting Tony's eyes. "Neither were some of the other things I asked her to do that she did anyway. Pepper was - invaluable." There's something tight or tightly leashed about him, and then he turns away, going to the bag that Tony had left on the floor as if he hadn't shown any of his cards at all.

Tony's gut instinct is immediately that Anthony was right the first time, and he should stay as far away from Pepper as possible. He should - it would be awkward for Pepper. And upsetting for Anthony. And. And it's not really Tony's decision to make, but.

"You can't be weird at Pepper just because you're in love with her," he says.

Straightening over the bag with the bottle of shampoo in hand, Anthony levels a deeply unimpressed look at Tony. "The last thing you need to worry about is me being 'weird' at Pepper," he says. "Unlike you, I know the meaning of the word discretion."

"Sorry - with which armor?" Tony asks skeptically. At least Anthony isn't flying around in red, white, and blue, but the armor is painted with a certain sense of drama. He's wrong, anyway: deflection isn't anything at all like discretion. "You know what, never mind. Let's not forget that I'm the star of the show here."

"Well," Anthony says, soft as cats paws with claws hiding in wait, "with that armor, who would expect it of me?" He smiles. It's a perfectly fine smile, fit for any magazine cover, from the squint of his eyes to the smallest sliver of tooth. In reality, it gives the impression of a pained grimace, like a rib cage cracked open wide and bloody with broken white bones sticking up like gravestones.

Yeah. Isolating Anthony may be the worst idea in the history of ideas. Does he want therapy? Because Tony can get him the best therapy, as soon as he gets some real answers out of him; before that if Anthony is particularly stubborn about it. He's certainly less skeptical of the whole process than Tony is, anyway, it might do him some good.

"Pat yourself on that back on your own time," Tony says, padding the towel on the edge of the counter. He turns and begins the slightly arduous process of leaning back until his head hangs over the sink. It has the unfortunate side effect of straining his rib cage against the casing. Nothing bad at all is going to happen here in a hotel suite in  _ Canada _ at the hands of his future self who is - slightly fucked up, a little bit, but still much, much kinder than Tony himself is. He clasps his hands to hide the shakes that rattle through them. Cold chills prickle his skin.

Anthony sighs loudly, making an exasperated motion that catches Tony's eye. "How did anyone put up with me?" he wonders rhetorically, setting down the shampoo bottle and shrugging off his jacket. It gets dropped - draped - across Tony's chest.

"What are you doing," Tony says flatly, even though it's obvious. The inner side of the jacket is warm, almost unusually so. It smells like cheap laundry detergent and like someone who isn't Tony at all. It's very disconcerting. Should be.

"This really isn't the kind of thing you want to multitask," Anthony says with a bitter twist to his mouth. "I'm not your doctor, anyway, so I don't need to see that. Now. Don't flinch."

Tony flinches anyway - just with his eyes, though, so that's something - when Anthony turns the water on. The sink is spacious enough that it doesn't even really come close to Tony's head. A few of his curls quickly grow sodden, bouncing under the tug of the water. It's not that bad so far. The sound of the running water is familiar, but when they'd… the water had already been in the bucket. So the sound doesn't bother him.

The sound of running water so close to his head doesn't bother him, and being stretched out on his back isn't so bad now that his arc reactor is covered, and Tony stares up at Anthony who is paying more attention to the water and the shampoo bottle than him.

"I'm being stupid about this," he says. "I don't know why this seemed like a big deal. It's not a big deal. This is -"

He starts to sit up only to have Anthony block him - the hand to his chest partially keeps the jacket from slipping down, but only barely. It's a very light touch. His thumb slots into the dip of Tony's throat like it was designed to go there. Which would be, plainly speaking, weird.

"You think it might not feel like a big deal because I know what I'm doing?" Anthony asks, giving him a very familiar impatient look of reproach that says:  _ amateur. _ He lifts his hand away. "Although, if you  _ want _ to go and try the shower again, go right ahead. Just mop up after yourself once you're done having an acute panic attack and throw yourself right back out of it."

Tony hesitates, looking up at him. Anthony arches his brow, but that's the only other sign he gives, and if - if Tony hadn't seen what he'd gone through in Yinsen's kitchen, maybe Tony would have seen it as a bluff. The last thing that Tony wants to do is start hyperventilating when he can't even breathe very deeply in the first place.

"Alright, fine," he says reluctantly, laying back again and shifting in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

By this time, steam is billowing up from the sink. Anthony reaches past his head to adjust the temperature, and once more, Tony manages to control his flinch to just a half-blink. There's no way that it goes unnoticed, but Anthony doesn't say anything about it. Doesn't even look at him until he has the water at a temperature he likes.

"Okay, so," he says, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink and looking down at Tony. "This is the fun part. Lathering might trigger some flashbacks. Your heart rate spikes, you give me your safeword."

"A safeword," Tony echoes, somewhat incredulously. "How about 'stop'?"

"'Stop' is good," he allows with an easy shrug, brows arched. "I'll also take 'no' and 'wait' - 'wait' being a yellow light, obviously."

"I'm getting my hair washed!" he says, "not being hog-tied in some kind of kinky BDSM scene."

"Yes," Anthony says, drawing the word into a hiss, "and I remember you failing to use your safeword then, too. Or even establishing one. So I won't be surprised if you don't, but at least try to remember to use it."

"I didn't need a safeword," Tony objects, although that's - not. Strictly true. Maybe. Anthony ignores his protests on that front and cups his hands into the water.

Maybe he's right about the lathering, but it's the water itself that Tony's concerned with. He can't just safeword out before they even get started, but Anthony seems to anticipate his flinch. His face is neutral and businesslike, cupping handfuls of water up against Tony's skull. It's not scalding hot - just shy of it, maybe, and - it's… not actually all that bad. By the time Anthony has almost all of his hair wet, Tony stops flinching and his heart rate begins to slow. Barely any water splashes onto his face at all. Anthony is very precise about cupping it only up to the edge of his hairline, working with the kind of intensity Tony associates with a very important or delicate project that needs the steadiest of hands.

Weird to think of  _ himself _ that way.

The trembling in his hands has steadied a little bit, or migrated. There's an odd sensation tickling through his body. Something a little wobbly and dizzy. He shuts his eyes against it.

It only takes a few more handfuls of water before his hair is entirely soaked, or as soaked as oil sodden hair can be. Anthony cups his hand under Tony's head, supporting it. "Remember what I told you about your safeword," Anthony says, and Tony hears the click of the shampoo bottle. His mouth and his throat are too dry to answer and he doesn't dare swallow to wet them.

He has to support his head on his own for a few moments while Anthony squeezes shampoo into his palm, but then the hand is back, supporting his neck. It's almost as hot as the water. Like a brand. Anthony leads with his fingers, firmly massaging in the shampoo into his hair on the far side of Tony's head, starting at his temples and working down behind his ears and to his neck. Both of his hands are unusually hot, the pressure of his fingers and thumbs firm and certain. The blackness behind his eyelids is going red with bright yellow sparks, his chest straining against the casing, something hot and unsteady curling behind it.

Then it bursts like the hot pop of gunfire, the darkness blinding white and dark, the water so cold it burns. Agony cracks up through his chest like the snap of a whip as he lurches up, the bright white and chrome of the suite bathrooms swirling into focus as his stomach lurches, empty. He almost throws himself from the stool and only barely manages not to, the legs rocking and thumping under him as he grabs the stool with his free hand. Free hand, because the other has a hold on Anthony, crushing his soapy hand in a death grip. It hurts  _ Tony's _ hand. Anthony's looks nothing short of mangled, the joints bend awkwardly,

"You didn't use your safeword," Anthony points out rather needlessly, not even cringing. Obviously. Obviously Tony didn't use his safeword, heaving for breath with soapy water dribbling down his cheeks and neck, chilling rapidly. Tony didn't use his safeword because who the fuck needs a safe word for getting their hair washed? Everything had been fine and then - "My fault," he adds with a grimace. "I got caught in a knot. In my defense, my hair hasn't been long enough to get knots in - a very long time."

Tony gives him a withering look - he's a bit surprised at the grimace and the embarrassed shuffle that earns him, but it helps ease the tight, panicky feeling slamming his heart against the casing. He takes a few more unstable breaths to get himself back under control. "Alright, fine, whatever," he says snappishly, "just go easy on the tugging, alright? I'm not into that."

"Sure thing, princess," Anthony says. "You wanna let go of my hand?"

Maybe not so surprisingly, he really doesn't. But he can't exactly let the job go only half done, and the odds are good that Anthony won't make the same mistake. He eases his grip until he can finally let go. The death grip didn't seem to perturb Anthony at all, even though Tony's fingers are aching from how hard he was squeezing.

"Didn't break your fingers, did I?" Tony asks as Anthony steps close again to help him lean back over the sink. Anthony puts off heat like a  _ furnace  _ in the chilled air, the only other sources of warmth being the air vents and the hot water running in the sink behind his head.

"I'm not exactly very breakable," Anthony says mildly.

"What did you do? Study Taekwondo?"

He pauses and then looks down at Tony like he's a very precious idiot. "No," he says.

Tony hadn't thought so, but the future is a strange, strange place. He lets it go, reaching down to pull the jacket up from his lap. He only bothers to get it pulled over the reactor itself, given the soapy water drying on his shoulders and neck.

It wasn't as if Anthony had been rushed or reckless before, but he's notably more careful now. He telegraphs his movements, sliding the pads of his fingers over Tony's scalp and pulling them out if he comes close to catching on a tangle instead of trying to pull through it. Tony half expects the shame and fear to linger, but as he shuts his eyes for the shampoo to be rinsed out, that seems to follow it down the drain as well.

"Hold still," Anthony says, soft and absent minded. He squeezes out more shampoo and goes right back to it.

As that is being worked through his hair, the weird, wobbling feeling comes back. Anthony's hands feel almost as hot as the water, working the second lather through his hair gently but efficiently. Tony kind of wants to quip about it - make some kind of remark about having missed his calling as a hairdresser or something equally absurd.

He's always known he was good with his hands, but this is - well. A pleasant kind of tingle spreads across his scalp and tickles his inner ear. Trails down the back of his neck and threatens to break out down his spine in a shiver that he barely represses. It collides with the dizzy, wobbling feeling in his chest and the reaction is a little - volatile. Hot. Bubbly. Sticky and spicy-sweet. This is - ah. Oh. He shifts his feet on the stool's footbar, clenching his toes.

The hands pause. "Yellow?" Anthony asks. The thread of uncertainty in his voice matches the one in Tony's chest perfectly.

Tony blinks his eyes open rapidly, a bit dazed and dazzled by the bright lights of the bathroom. "Wh -Oh. No, no, no," he hastens to say: "Green. It's green. We're all green here." He focuses on Anthony's narrow look, less suspicious than reserved. If he has any notion of what he's doing to Tony, there's no sign of it on his face, and Tony shifts his head in his best approximation of a shrug, given that his precarious position makes moving his shoulders a very bad idea. "Look, I don't want soap drying in my hair. We're green, so let's just - get it over with."

Not his most convincing argument ever, but it seems to be enough. After a moment, Anthony gets back to work; half the problem is the firm circles his fingers move over Tony's head. It makes him feel a bit like a cat, wanting to push into the touches. It's a bit pathetic. Wanting. Needy. It's not that no one's touched him kindly since Afghanistan, but no one's touched him like  _ this. _ Tony is… very,  _ very  _ weak to having his head touched. He'd forgotten. It hadn't factored into asking for assistance.

Honestly, Tony can see why Anthony fell in love with Pepper if she'd done this for him.  _ Tony _ could fall in love with someone who would do this for him. Despite the uncomfortable angle and how it stretches his ribs and strains his neck, it is getting a little difficult not to shift on the stool. He's never been so grateful that he flushes on the back of his his neck and and shoulders and nowhere else. As it is, his throat and mouth are both getting very dry and he's very thankful for the sloppy job he did with the jacket since it's still half covering his lap.

The towel dropped on his face is a very rude surprise.

"Alright, show's over," Anthony says.

Tony paws at the towel on his face, struggling to sit up. Going straight up strains his chest, and tilt and going at it from an angle almost tosses him on the floor. He straightens just in time to see Anthony walk out the door of the bathroom from behind a curtain of dripping curls.

He leans back, hooking his elbow onto the counter and glowering down at the jacket that's slumped back down into his lap again. "Who invited you?" Tony demands under his breath. "Who? No one, that's who. You were uninvited. You can't just show up randomly and crash my parties. Don't ruin this for me."

His libido, shameless as ever, does not flag in the face of this rebuke.

"You and I are going to the special hell," he mutters under his breath, reaching up to mop up the dribbling mess his sodden hair is leaving all over his neck and shoulders and face. "I mean, we were always going to the special hell, but I'm pretty sure this calls for additional levels and punishments." Of a sort, anyway. Can he really be blamed? Tony would dare anyone else to go through that and  _ not _ get turned on, only that would require Anthony putting his hands on other people's heads, and no. Just. No. Unnecessary. They can take his word for it.

He's pretty sure that if Anthony hadn't realized how he'd respond in the beginning, he'd figured it out by the end. Which is fine. Tony can brazen through that. Anthony should know from experience just how weak he is to head stuff. He may never be able to tolerate his hair getting pulled ever again, but hey. That was. Pretty good.

"Not helping," Tony says aloud.

He stays in the bathroom until most of the hungry buzzing in his skin fades to a more manageable restlessness, scrubbing water out of his hair until it lightens and begins to fluff. Then he gets a shirt out of the bag and pulls that on - it's three-quarter sleeve, but opens deep down the neckline, past the bottom of the reactor. The buttons that should shut it don't even have eyelets, and the hem doesn't even meet the top of the slinky lounging pants.

Tony really needs to have the overnight bags repacked. It hadn't exactly been high on his priority list, but it's certainly climbing up there now.

Emerging from the bathroom, Tony says, "I'm gonna call down to the lobby and get them to pick up some things." He spots Anthony in the kitchenette, apparently taking stock of what's in the fridge. Tony wonders what JARVIS ordered for him when he called for the room. The laptop sits abandoned on the coffee table in the lounge, and he considers retrieving it before deciding that he needs that drink. "Namely some actual sleepwear for you, probably a suit. Things."

They even have ice at the bar. The hotel is a lot less flashy than what Tony's used to, mostly because of where Anthony arranged for Yinsen's therapy and temporary - permanent? - residence, but they certainly went all out. He'll write a Yelp review or a tweet or something. It's probably what they're after, given that he's Tony Stark. He can help out, no problem. So long as they don't mention his lookalike quite yet.

"Just because we're going to fix the reactor doesn't mean you should add alcohol on top of the palladium poisoning," Anthony says as Tony empties a bottle of whiskey from the minibar the cheap tumbler.

Tony looks up, gesturing at him. "Come on. I deserve a drink.  _ You _ deserve a drink. Let's get you a drink."

"I don't need a drink and neither do you," he disagrees.

He drinks regardless, swallowing down the cheap whiskey, ice clicking and crashing into his mouth. "That," he says, lowering the tumbler, "is where you're wrong, me from the future. Let me put in perspective for you. Remember when you broke Yinsen and I out of that awful place, and you said directly to my face that I 'didn't want a repeat of Jericho with that armor'? And you get really squirrely about me losing control of Stark Industries, not to mention the fact that there were 'some changes to personnel.' So. What I want to know. Who the fuck betrayed me?"

Tony isn't as nice as Anthony. His fury doesn't sound like punching a mirror in self-recrimination. It sounds like shrapnel like a gunshot wound, it sounds like flamethrowers fit to melt the world, it sounds like palladium burning through his veins being the  _ acceptable price _ for vengeance.

"I know," Tony continues, not looking at him, "what you sound like when you're stalling for time now, Tony." He tips the tumbler to his lips, swallows bitter liquid like bile, and crunches ice between his teeth. "So you might as well come out and tell me who was going to steal the armor from me. What'd they do? Sell it to the highest bidder? Use it for themselves? I am the  _ forgiving sort. _ They haven't done anything wrong  _ yet. _ "

He looks up at last at Anthony. He's not sure what he's expecting. Consternation for having given so much away? Wariness, of the kind he feels every time Anthony starts talking about  _ dark sides _ and hiding his true intentions? Probably not the flat stretch of Anthony's mouth, anyway, or the dark eyes seizing him up with something almost sympathy.

"That's where you're wrong," Anthony says. "You didn't wonder how they knew where to find you? To shoot down your convoy and take you hostage?"

"Military intelligence frankly leaves a lot to be desired," Tony says flatly.

"True. What about the video they took of you?"

Tony had - not entirely forgotten about that. It had slipped his mind. At the time, Tony had thought they were holding him hostage against the entire United States government, but Rhodey - no one had known he was still alive. "They put a hit out on me?" Tony asks. States. Because - oh - it's coming clear now. The SI weapon stocks in the hands of terrorists. His 'loyal customers.' Tony flying all the way out to Afghanistan just to demonstrate the Jericho missile, when he'd been uneasy at best releasing such a weapon to be used. Even if they had another World War, no one would have fields of soldiers to bomb in such a fashion, and despite everything, destroying entire mountain ranges to get at terrorists in hidey holes is a shortsighted way of dealing with things. It had always meant to be another war stopper in the way the nukes were in WWII. Something to terrorize all enemies of the States and put an end to any true wars before they began. That's what the Jericho was always meant to be.

Tony had always had the internally unpopular policy of not just selling as many missiles as the buyer pleased. He might have made  _ quips _ about discounts on large buys, but -

A weapons manufacturer could sustain themselves for  _ years _ on the schematics already on file at Stark Industries.

"I think this is the definition of gutting the goose that laid the golden egg," he says, blinking. His chest is cinching tighter, the arc reactor heavy - but not as heavy as the thing that lives behind it. That awful, sucking well. He sets his tumbler down and leans on the counter, staring at Anthony. "Who," he says, and some small part of him is pleased that the word doesn't vibrate with the fury bubbling, viscous, inside him.

Given the way that Anthony's been stalling, he doesn't expect to like the answer. Anthony doesn't enjoy watching him suffer, for all his self-destructive habits and self-flagellation. He shifts uneasily and looks away only for as long as it takes to make himself say it, and then he meets Tony's gaze and says, weary and worn, "you know how Obie is about the bottom line. The money. It's all that really matters to him. It's all that's ever mattered to him."

Tony stares back at him. It makes some kind of awful sense. It makes a lot of awful sense. He snatches the tumbler back up and drains it in one reckless go, even though it's mostly ice by now. "Don't need a drink my ass," he says, thumping it down against the counter.

Then he hurls the entire thing across the room, only just missing the window.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tony:** Yinsen tried to kill us!!!!  
>  **Anthony, a man who helped raise a gen z:** lmao ikr  
>  **Tony:** Why aren't you worried about this!?  
>  **Anthony:** Well, he didn't really try very hard so I'm not sure what's the problem here
> 
> The Hippocratic oath doesn't actually have the phrase 'first do not harm' but the idea is there in spirit. It's a bit weird that its implied that they used chloroform on Tony during the surgery when 10Rings seems like a well supplied group. Do they just shoot people who get hurt or??
> 
> Off the top of my head, the only time I actually recall Tony getting violent when upset is when Rhodey was shot down and his parents murderer was right there. I think on top of his PTSD and needing to have control after being captured and tortured, he might escalate to throwing things in this case, mostly because he hasn't weaponized himself the way he would have if he'd gone the Iron Man route. At least this time he didn't throw anything at _Future!Tony_.
> 
> I actually wanted to hold off on the Stane reveal, but Anthony holding back on something like that was making me queasy, and he'd done a particularly bad job about not hinting at it, as Tony points out. Tony didn't actually mention it, but it was seeing Anthony poking around the Stark Industries servers after the shipping records that started Tony's brain down that path.


	5. shawarma and chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Across from him, Anthony sighs noisily. "Please don't make the Death, Destroyer of Worlds face in public," he says reproachfully. "The journalists will take one look at it and make up all kinds of lies."_  
>  \--  
> the boys lick their wounds, contemplate murder, and prepare for the next big battle.

* * *

Obadiah Stane is not an idiot, for all that he's a lying, dishonest son of a bitch - and the treachery goes further than just Stane. It would have to. It's not that the shipping records are modified at all, and at a second or third glance, they hold up. But Tony? Well, Tony's really good at patterns. And anything that gets shipped out gets weighed for tax purposes. And even giving for generous levels of error, the shipping weights recorded at the plants and at the warehouses don't match the goods being recorded as leaving them. And the materials coming in to produce Stark Industries wares don't match what is actually manufactured.

The sound of clinking glass pulls Tony's head up out of his hands, and then to his feet. "Oh, come on," he says, circling around the couch to where Anthony is crouched, collecting the ice and dropping it back into the tumbler. Thankfully, the tumbler itself was made of glass thick enough that it hadn't shattered against the wall, although - he glances up. There's a divot in the wall where it hit. "You don't have to clean up everything I fuck up," he says, dropping his hand to Anthony's shoulder.

Okay, that's ridiculous, Tony thinks, staring down at it. Smooths his hand out over it, and then because Anthony is crouching and it's conveniently available, his back.

"Well, this isn't strictly for your benefit," Anthony says dryly, then scowls up at him. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I don't run this hot," Tony says blankly, blinking. "Do I run this hot? I can't run this hot. What  _ is  _ this?" He puts his other hand up to his collar bone, then around his neck. It's kind of pointless to try to use his own hand to measure his temperature, but he tries anyway. Earlier, he'd thought it was a combination of the hot water and his own lack of clothes, but it's starting to look like there's more to it than that.

Anthony huffs, sweeping up the last of the melting ice into the tumbler and standing. There are wet spots on the rug, but not enough that they'll mildew before drying and give the cleaning staff a problem. " _ That  _ would be the other systems you may remember me mentioning," he says, sidestepping out from under Tony's hand.

Tony watches after Anthony, taking the tumbler with him to the kitchenette, brow creased in thought. "That doesn't make any sense," he says, and then, more confidently, "that doesn't make any sense."

The ambivalent little head tilt Anthony gives in reply is discouraging. Anthony also knows what  _ Tony  _ sounds like while stalling for time. Tony crosses his arms - he's mastering this whole thing about holding them slightly out from his chest - and glowers at the window. Immediately after he'd thrown the glass, Anthony had kicked him out from behind the bar and then refused to let him leave the suite. Not physically, of course, but being faced in turns with grim determination and then open understanding had forced Tony into a disconcerted retreat. He hadn't even known his eyes could  _ do _ that. 

"The worst part about it," he says bitterly now, "is that I'm not even really surprised about this. I should be surprised, right? I should-" But he's not. Oh, he hadn't seen it coming, of course he hadn't or it never would have gotten this far. And he can't look back and see anything leading up to it, either. It's not all  _ that  _ unusual for Obie to call him and check on him around the time he should be finished with a demonstration. Obie knows and understands that Tony just… sometimes has to not  _ be  _ places - get away from everything - 

Tony turns, dropping his arms and shoving one hand through his hair.  _ 'Obie'  _ nothing. Stane has committed treason under Stark Industries name, and implicated not just Tony, but all of Stark Industries with his actions. Changing the direction of the company will be difficult enough without the additional stain of dealing with a traitor. There has to be a way to deal with him quietly.

"An NDA," he says. "And forced retirement. And then some - very thorough auditing. Severance packages. We'll say it's because of the changing direction of Stark Industries."

"Sounds good," Anthony says; from the sound of it, he's turned to face him. "And what do you think Stane will do once he's been kicked out of Stark Industries?"

Tony clenches his fists. It  _ would  _ be too much to ask that Stane accept his disgrace quietly. No, he would - god, he would do worse than that. Stane had always had something of a meanstreak. Tony just never thought that  _ he'd  _ be the target of it. "Stark Industries can't handle a scandal right now - not like this, not if I want to change the company brand," he says.

"It won't survive covering it up, either," he points out.

No. As badly as having it  _ known  _ that Stark Industries had a traitor would go, having it revealed later would be even worse. "I could tear it all down," he says, impulsive, a dream he'd had since he'd first taken the reins of Stark Industries and was thwarted at time and time again. It was never the  _ right  _ time to change Stark Industries' business model, Stane always said - and not just him, but the board would always get annoying if they thought that Tony was 'losing sight' of the goal. The shareholders. The board of directors. "Start a new company."

"You could," Anthony says. "You might even be able to scalp some of the more promising employees from Stark Industries and have them follow you. But starting over completely would require the hiring of hundreds, maybe thousands of employees, and you won't know if someone…  _ two faced  _ might slip in through the cracks."

And leaving Stane with the burnt out shell of Stark Industries would still be leaving him with far too many resources to strike back with. So many of Tony's designs are tied to it and it alone through copyrights and patents because Stark Industries was supposed to be synonymous with  _ Tony Stark. _ He could hardly sue to suppress them. Frustrated, Tony turns back to Anthony. "How did you handle all of this?"

"Uh - well," Anthony says, grimacing as he scratches at the back of his head. "Pepper - actually, was the one that found out, and then we - kind of threw him in the full sized arc reactor." The smile he gives is meant to be reassuring, but comes out more like a thinly veiled threat: too thin, sharp and damaged and dangerous, only barely softened by the wide eyes he glances up with.

"You and Pepper threw him into the arc reactor," Tony says, odd and flat, his heart thumping against the casing. "What are you? Volcano cultists?"

Anthony stares at him for a second then says, thick with disappointment, "I can't believe I missed that opportunity for  _ years.  _ "

Tony's not surprised. There's nothing humorous about Stane betraying not only him, but all of Tony's employees, and even more than that: the entire country. The young Americans fighting and  _ dying  _ overseas. The innocent people being terrorized by those same weapons. Tony's only able to make a mockery of Anthony's experience with the situation because it didn't happen to him. The idea of Obadiah in the arc reactor - they would have had to overload it - it's -

It would have been extremely efficient. There's the not-so-small matter of making the arc reactor itself seem unreliable, and therefore Stark products, but shortages  _ are  _ known to happen, they can be looked into and studied and proven safe and effective. With sufficient marketing and public relations efforts, even if people remember the incident, Tony could install more cost effective reactors in hospitals - ones too large to be feasibly stolen or reproduced. The public could be convinced to trust the reactors.

"Please tell me you're not actually planning to throw Stane into an arc reactor," Anthony says, and he looks so disappointed that Tony immediately says, "no, of course not," and then, not trusting his own face with how easy it is to read his future self, turns away to investigate the divot he's left on the wall.

"There's a big difference between killing someone because they won't  _ stop  _ and murdering someone," he persists.

"Yeah, like those Ten Ring goons you shot down?" Tony demands, turning back. He's - well, he's angry, he's furious, but it's not at Anthony, despite the reproach. He's right, after all. "Tell me Obie won't come after me no matter what I do. Tell me there's something I can do that will make things right, that fix the damage he's done to my company, to - to innocent people, to civilians and our soldiers. If there's something I can do - some way of  _ fixing  _ things where I'm not leaving an enemy at my back, then tell me, because -" He spreads his arms open, welcoming,  _ desperate, _ but not with any real hope. 

Anthony flinches first, dropping his gaze and pursing his lips. He sighs. "Even if we threw everything in the book at him, Stane has connections. He has to have them, or otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get away with this for so long."

And they  _ know  _ Obie. They grew up at Obie's knee. Obadiah is worse than a bulldog with a bone. Under his genial persona was a man who was cut and made for the weapons manufacturing business. He handled most of the business matters, put Tony on training wheels and then never properly took him off them, letting Tony avoid his responsibilities time after time after time. Always said Tony was too soft, and obviously he is, obviously he must be too soft: standing here stonewalled by the options in front of him when the decision should be  _ easy  _ to make.

Tony may be soft, but apparently his drive to survive is much stronger than people expect when they look at him. It surprises even himself: the evidence stands before him, flesh and blood and still breathing even after the world has ended.

He drops his arms against his thighs with a soft pap. "He's in it too deep. I'm not seeing a lot of options."

Anthony still doesn't look at him. "You really think you'll be able to face Obie and kill him in cold blood," he asks the floor, flat and utterly neutral.

Tony rubs his hands over his face so hard it pulls at the skin. No, he doesn't. Even the thought of it makes him kind of sick, outside the theoretical framework of the idea, practical as it is. He designed weapons meant to injure, maim, and  _ kill  _ people. He'd tried to fire back on their attackers when the convoy was attacked. He knew he would have to kill the Ten Rings men with the original armor he'd built. He'd seen the bodies afterwards, destroying the evidence of the Iron Man prototype and the weapon stocks both. Tony is capable of killing people. It isn't particularly difficult, aside from philosophies and moral quandaries of it.

Howard wouldn't have hesitated. If Howard couldn't have put Obadiah away, he would have locked him into the basement of his SHIELD agency if possible, and if not that - put a bullet into Obadiah's skull himself. More out of annoyance and disgust than anger, of course: for not being  _ loyal  _ and for jeopardizing the company the way he has. Howard was not a good man, and he didn't raise one, either.

"I can't do it," Tony says, raw and useless. "It's Obie."

Anthony looks up at him and nods after a moment. "Okay," he says. "Then we'll want to start collecting evidence. There's plenty of it, or was, before SHIELD stuck their noses in and vanished everything. Everything had to be hushed up at that point. But there was a lot of it. Stane is the kind of self-indulgent person who likes to keep - trophies. Like the video they made and sent to him."

Tony blinks. "I think I'm going to sick."

-0-

That first day, Tony calls JARVIS to rearrange permissions in a more sane fashion. JARVIS seems pleased that Anthony's access has been extended once more, and Tony doesn't know if he should be jealous over it. JARVIS doesn't really seem to get attached to anyone other than Tony, and sure, circumstances being what they are, but it's still an adjustment to make to JARVIS actually welcoming someone new. There's far less fuss over revoking Obadiah's privileges, even though Tony's never had to do that before… or never dared to, he's not really sure. Before his upgrades, JARVIS might have questioned the uncharacteristic behavior, but he seems strangely approving, somehow. 

Almost immediately after that, Anthony more or less drags him from the suite for 'shawarma and chill.' That sounds like some kind of code or reference, but it's something Tony doesn't have context for and soon forgets in the face of the two of them actually going to a shawarma place just to eat food. Tony halfway expects to be recognized: all Anthony did was put his shades back on, and stuff a hastily purchased baseball cap over Tony's unstyled hair. He's deeply offended but it, but it turns out to suit their purposes just fine. No one in Canada seems to expect Tony Stark to wander around the streets in an ugly, shapeless sweater and lounging pants, and Anthony isn't cut or styled in any recognizably 'Tony Stark' fashion. It's not like the beard, signature as it is, hasn't been used extensively by so many other men across the world.

What Tony  _ wants  _ to do is something wild and incredibly and outlandish. Like a flying suit of armor. Eating street food in what amounts to his pajamas while Anthony muses on the wisdom of owning local business in New York City -  _ New York City,  _ as if their home wasn't in Malibu - doesn't come anywhere close.

But the results aren't anything to argue with: by the time they're done eating, Tony feels slightly more settled into his skin, less like the reactor will fall from his chest with rot, less like he needs to fly back immediately and demand  _ why,  _ as if he hasn't figured out for himself that Obadiah's priorities have always been himself and his own comfort.

Although he will do those things. At the appropriate time. When they tighten the noose around his self-indulgent  _ neck. _

Across from him, Anthony sighs noisily. "Please don't make the Death, Destroyer of Worlds face in public," he says reproachfully. "The journalists will take one look at it and make up all kinds of lies."

"They aren't that bad," Tony disagrees, wiping his expression clean. "Some of them are useful."

The look that earns him is delicately skeptical. Anthony blinks and then he says, frowning, "tell me you aren't talking about Christine Everhart."

"Who," Tony says blankly. It takes him a moment longer to place it and then he scrunches his nose. "God no. And for the record the use I was talking about definitely was not some of the most awkward and mediocre sex I've ever had. I can't believe that's the last time I had sex." He pauses to boggle at that with some dismay. There's no way he's going to be jumping in bed with anyone  _ now,  _ but it seems like a tragedy that the last time he had sex, he'd been mauled like a ball at the dog park. There are times that enthusiasm just doesn't make up for a lack of technique.

"Oh, you've had plenty of worse sex," Anthony says with disgust. "No, that's not what I meant either." He pauses, frowning thoughtfully for a moment before says, "Oh, right. A couple of months from now, she dug up that Stark Industries was still doing… the thing." He grimaces. "Which reminds me. All these flights aside, you need to make some public appearances. Answer some questions. Do some PR and get back in the public eye."

"Prove I'm not a broken hermit of a man, you mean," Tony says with a humorless twist of his mouth. The public thinks he appears more than he does, just because once a month he cuts loose and parties hard to make up for all the working hard he does. Even with Stane doing a lot of the heavy lifting, there had been no shortage of work to do. 

The same look crosses Anthony's face. "It'll make things easier in the long run," he says with a shrug:  _ more or less.  _ "They're already dragging the Stark name through the mud since your announcement about the weapons manufacturing."

Tony remembers Obadiah's jab about baby bottles with a kind of dull fury. Of course the comment had rolled off Tony's back at the time, he was so used to Obadiah throwing those kinds of words at him every time Tony worked on any project that  _ wasn't  _ weaponry. Tony had always been frustrated with the tunnel vision. Putting all of Stark Industries' eggs in one basket, especially in this day and age when warfare was so different than Howard's time -

"You're making the face again," Anthony says, and Tony scowls. "I didn't come back here to save the world just so you could take it over."

"What would I even do with the world," Tony asks bitterly. "I can't even manage a company."

After shawarma, Tony calls Pepper. She handles pretty much all of his affairs, and that includes dealing with Obadiah when Tony's not available - and given what he's learned, he can't really leave her unprepared or unforwarned. Tony says nothing outright, simply that Obadiah is unwelcomed on the premises until Tony has something to show for the new direction he wants to take Stark Industries. He says not to be anywhere with Obadiah without Happy, at the very least.

"Happy is  _ your  _ bodyguard, Tony," she objects.

"Well, you're my proxy, Pepper, so guarding you is guarding me," he says, which he figures is slightly less creepy than 'I spent two and a half months planning to get back home to you,' and then: "when I do get back, there's someone I want you to meet."

By the tone of her response, she clearly expects him to be up to his old shenanigans with his flings. They're not all one-night stands. Sometimes he keeps them for a week, and if they're not particularly serious about him either and able to keep their heads, he keeps them around for a month or two. He knows that Pepper hates it, probably because of that  _ vibe,  _ but with her putting him at arm's length, there doesn't seem to be a solid reason why he shouldn't.

Admittedly, from Pepper's perspective, his behavior probably looks like more of the usual no matter what announcements he's made. And - alright, fine, he  _ might  _ be the slightest bit hurt that she's automatically assumed the worst of him again. He hasn't given her a lot of reason to think otherwise, but - well, still.

She'll understand it better when he can  _ show  _ her why his behavior has been erratic. Correcting any misconceptions can wait until then.

It's not too late in the day to go ahead and fly back, suite be damned, but Anthony convinces him against it, citing Tony's lack of sleep. It's a fair enough point. Tony hasn't been sleeping well anyway, so he'd barely noticed the margin of feeling even worse he's been putting up with for having not even attempted sleep for the last few nights. It's not as if he'll actually get any sleep in an unfamiliar room anyway, but  _ Anthony  _ might. There's no telling when the last time he slept was, but he's gone straight from having a fit about Tony declining to become Iron Man to dealing with  _ Tony's  _ fit, to walking Tony through Obadiah's betrayal. All the neutral tones of voice in the world couldn't mask the stilted way he spoke about it, so Tony is half certain that Anthony is somehow no more over it than he himself is.

Then again, his parents are twenty years murdered, and even before he knew that he hadn't let go of their deaths. So. Tony has a bad track record for letting things go.

In the morning, Tony makes a few calls while Anthony is out of the suite, and is more than done with them by the time he returns with coffee. It's bitter and dark and black, although Tony notes that the coffee he keeps for himself is flavored and topped with whipped cream. Anthony spots his scrunched nose and looks put upon. 

Well, that's just asking for it. "You don't even like sweet things," he points out. 

"You can develop a taste for anything," he says, then takes a drink from his cup and grimaces. "Granted, the nostalgia is probably the deciding factor with this."

Tony isn't sure who it could have possibly been that loved sweet drinks and somehow managed to foist them off on Anthony that Anthony hadn't simply turned and dumped the drink in response, but he'll keep an eye out and stay very far away. There's no point in ruining perfectly good coffee with syrups and spices. If Anthony has already fallen prey, then they can have him again and leave Tony out of it.

"I think it's time for a trip back to New York. _ City,  _ " he clarifies when Anthony's expression turns wary, because honestly neither of them really want to go back to the House. "For clothes. Something dry clean only, with color, and tailored to actually fit. And then a meeting with Pepper, and by that time we'll have mocked you up an identity and put you on camera just in case SHIELD cum HYDRA gets any ideas."

"That sounds backwards," Anthony points out.

Tony smirks, and Anthony rolls his eyes, because they both know that's as good as acquiescing. "It's called having  _ priorities, _ " he insists smugly. "Food and shelter will take care of themselves: you, my outrageously attractive body double, need a wardrobe that isn't an embarrassment to my good fashion sense. Something stupidly expensive that says 'property of Tony Stark.'" 

Expression flattening into disbelief, Anthony says, "You can't just slap your name all over me." 

"Why not? It's your name. We share the name," Tony says, turning away. "Not legally, of course. Legally I am the only Tony Stark, and legally, you will soon be someone else, but the point  _ is _ that the world doesn't know that and the quicker that's remedied, the sooner I can relax about it." 

Anthony still seems a bit squirrelly about the whole thing, for which he can't really be blamed. As dodgy as the whole idea of making the world aware of him is, given fingerprints and DNA and the  _ suit, _ Tony is still of the opinion that giving him visibility is the best defense against anyone trying to vanish him. Kind of like what Howard had done for him, he acknowledges with mixed feelings. 

While quickly finishing his coffee, Tony makes one last pass over the suite. Neither of them had really disturbed the room much; the only time Tony's really messy is when he's working on a project, and other than the mess with Stark Industries, the only project he has is Anthony. Both of them had repacked anything they unpacked as soon as they were done with it, too accustomed to hotels and keeping track of their items, but without Pepper on hand, it's up to Tony to make absolutely certain. 

"Who are you trying to make give me an identity?" Anthony asks. "I don't know anyone like that. Not right now, anyway. Not against SHIELD."

"JARVIS, who else?" he says absently. 

"JARVIS," he echoes accusingly. "You have  _ JARVIS  _ breaking the law now? You can't have JARVIS break the law."

"Well, by the sounds of it, his predecessor was probably an undercover spy anyway, so I don't really see the problem here."

"For one, Jarvis had legal standing and  _ SHIELD,  _ and for another,  _ you taught JARVIS how to break the law.  _ "

"That, for one, okay, is actually not my fault, that's your fault," Tony says. Secure that they won't be leaving anything behind but his name of the register and an online review, he turns to Anthony. "Well," he says to the narrow look of annoyance. "Obviously JARVIS taught  _ himself  _ to break the law, because the walls have ears and he has heard that you need an identity, and then  _ after  _ his code was tidied up a bit, he did help me sort through the probably fake public records of everyone involved with Twelve-Sixteen. And since he likes you, for  _ some  _ reason -" as if they don't both know, "he's been working on fixing that whole cabbage patch problem you were so worried about." 

Anthony stares at him. There's no particular expression to his face, but something clogs painfully in Tony's throat, like sympathy grief. 

"Has been for days now," Tony admits, voice a little raw, and blinks. "Hell,  _ I  _ didn't even know until I talked to him this morning."

"Right," Anthony says, taking a short, painful breath. It sounds like surrender. And then, covering his vulnerabilities: "I can't believe you upgraded him from maintaining the house straight into having free will."

Latching onto the normalcy, Tony sticks his chin in the air with mock offense. "What? You don't think JARVIS deserves free will?"

"Of course he does," Anthony agrees, looking away with an awful twist to his mouth.

Tony only meant it as a joke, already well aware of his own opinion regarding AI rights; he's never been as worried about AI as some of the loudmouths in the community - the only reason JARVIS hadn't had free will before this mostly relates back to Tony's irrational fear of lobotomizing him on accident. Admittedly, he might never had gone so far if Anthony had never shown up in his terrifyingly advanced armor and infuriated Tony into fortifying his home. Which may mean that  _ Anthony  _ had never gone so far.

That reaction implies that it's more than just that, though.

"The armor," he says, because there's only so much misery he can be forced to confront each day and it's been bothering him. "Where are you storing it? You didn't bring it with you. Please tell me you didn't leave the armor at Yinsen's house."

"No, of course I didn't leave the armor at Yinsen's house," Anthony says. "Why would I leave the armor at Yinsen's house? I never brought it there to begin with."

He stares, appalled. "Why - why would you leave it anywhere? Wh - we just had a talk about people stealing your armor and making Frankenstein ripoffs, I can't believe -"

"Alright, look, calm down," he says shortly. "You really think I - I actually went through that instead of just hearing about it. You think I would make it that easy? Someone's looking after it for me. It's  _ fine.  _ " He gives a little anxious twist with one shoulder, like a kid playing off getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Besides, if anyone who isn't me messes with it, it's set to detonate."

Tony hasn't stopped staring, and he's no less appalled. "Oh, good," he says. "You turned it into a kamikaze bomb. Alright. That's just -"

"I know what I'm doing," Anthony says, and then looks Tony over - and god, he's actually checking to make sure they're not having a  _ real  _ argument. And that look should be the end of it, but then Anthony musters his defenses, shoulders straight but painfully tense. "Even if the detonation gets triggered, no one would be  _ hurt  _ by it," he says with a resentful twist of his mouth. "Not even whatever jackass tries to hijack it. I know there's a real difference between curiosity and trying to steal the armor."

Great, Tony thinks as Anthony snatches up the bags in one hand and stalks toward the door, still carrying his coffee in the other; now they're  _ actually  _ having an argument because somewhere along the line, Anthony forgot how to bicker without having it taken seriously. 

"Way to jump to conclusions," he says, refusing to think about how it looks like he's chasing after Anthony. He catches the door right as Anthony gets there and swings it wide open, turning to catch his eye. "After everything that's happened? I'm the last person who is going to accuse you of being careless with your tech."

Anthony grimaces, eyeing him mistrustfully.

"Okay," Tony amends, because alright, yeah. Gesturing helplessly, he says, "it  _ may  _ have sounded like I was doubting it, that absolutely was the words that came out of my mouth, but I didn't  _ mean  _ it. I don't expect you to misuse your tech any more than  _ I  _ would. And I wouldn't." 

He says this as sincerely as possible - as much as he can, what with what he  _ has  _ done with his brains so far, building things that kill people. But that isn't all there is to him, Anthony proves that much, even if everyone else refuses to see it.

Anthony doesn't look entirely convinced. "Yeah, alright," he says, at least willing to let it pass.

Too bad for him that this isn't just going to go away. "Tony, look," he says, and almost reaches forward to grab Anthony by the shoulder. He stops himself with a cringe, because that's an  _ Obie  _ thing. He's not the only one that recognizes it, but even though Anthony eyes his hand warily, he doesn't step away. 

Hesitating awkwardly, Tony settles for lowering his goal a bit, cupping his hand around Anthony's bent elbow. "Look at from my perspective," he says, and Anthony looks up from his hand to meet his eyes carefully. "You saved my ass. You keep saving my ass. If not for you, I'd be - waterboarding myself, apparently." Awkward. Did that sound judging? Tony's forced to assume from Anthony's expression that it sounded judging. "Come on. The point is: I trust you. Alright?"

"That is," Anthony says, taking a short breath, "probably the stupidest thing you've done since Afghanistan."

Tony drops his hand, rearing back slightly to be just extra offended at him. Anthony ignores his antics, stepping through the door and into the hallway beyond the suite. He has to wonder if this is how Rhodey felt all those times he tried to have a serious talk with him and Tony blew him off, either ignoring or deflecting any of the well-meaning words he used to try to get through to him. 

Pressing on that point is a bad idea, then. It will only either piss him off, or make him feel worse, depending on where his head is at now.

Tony can't quite help grimacing at the cab waiting for him at the entrance to the hotel. Anthony's already tossing his bags into the back, and then he even opens the door for Tony. He's clearly rushing Tony off as a way of avoiding further discussion, and feeling slightly miffed, Tony leans into the open door and props one arm on the door and the other on the roof.

"You know, you make a better PA than bodyguard," he says, every inch the spoiled bratprince of the weapons industry. The slouch his body takes strains his chest painfully.

Anthony only barely resists the urge to cast a look skyward. "You already have a PA," he says flatly. 

"I have this thing to do called 'saving the world,' I think that justifies two," he says, and then bats his eyes for good measure, which is slightly more appropriate than leaning in over the door and trying to give Anthony puppy eyes. Or bedroom eyes. Both. Which ever happened first. 

The look Anthony tips over the tops of his shades at Tony is reproachful, and weirdly distracting with the - the eyes, and the lashes. "Get in the cab before you miss your flight," he says. 

"Did you forget that it's my flight on my plane?"

"It's not your airport, you only have limited time for the runway, so get a move on."

He purses his mouth in a pout, but folds into the cab all the same. He has time to say, "I'm reconsidering my position on the suit!" before Anthony shuts the door on him. Unlike  _ Tony,  _ he'll be flying back immediately, which will leave him with time to burn. And see: that just makes Tony nervous. He would prefer to keep an open line between them, if only to make sure Anthony didn't get up to anything while out of sight. Although he wouldn't of course. As far as Tony knows, all Anthony has done is liberate Stark weapons from terrorists and then go off and sulk at Yinsen's house - but there's still a lot of things that he doesn't know about Anthony, and he's well aware that in a very small amount of time, he himself can get up to a lot of trouble. Somehow he doesn't think that's changed with the years.

Right. A communicator that can keep a solid connection between Tony and Anthony - however fast the suit can go. Tracking, so in case something happens, Tony can find him quickly. The suit is a work of art and he's not sure what kind of efforts would be required to pull it down, but Tony knows all too well that even the best tech can respond unpredictably to unexpected interference.

That in mind, he makes one more call before he makes it to the airport.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **anthony:** pepper and i threw stane in the arc reactor  
>  **tony:** that’s awful  
>  **tony:** how soon can we get him down there for an inspection anyway  
>  \--  
>  **tony:** I didn't understand why Pepper and Rhodey cared so much about me, but I've only had my own Tony for 36 hours now and if anything were to happen to him, I would kill 90% of the people on this earth and then myself.  
>  \--  
>  **pepper:** tony i can hear the sound of you trying to hook up with someone from an entire country away  
>  **tony:** sorry suddenly i can't hear??? hello? hello?? you're breaking up
> 
> tony has this constant, anxious thought of "why do i keep hitting on myself" and "why am i my own type / i didn't think i was my own type / i am 9 and what is this" and "lemme smash. you like blue? I got ya blue. Blue and yellow??"  
> Anthony's is a lot more like Tony's from _a broke machine,_ so basically "i have to fix single every problem on my own" and "he'll leave me alone once he has better options" and "either stop looking at me like that or do something about it."  
>  I mean, without even realizing it, he greenlit Tony's advances with a _meme_ the awkward fucking loser. He's lucky that meme didn't exist yet or Tony _would_ have done something about it and neither one of them are prepared to deal with that yet. 
> 
> Tony's opinions on coffee don't reflect my own. I think it's tasteless for Tony and Anthony to talk about Christine that way, but that sex scene is so fucking awkward and tony doesn't even seem into so I'm just lmao 
> 
> You guys have no idea how badly I want Anthony to go retrieve Bucky and point him at Obadiah. I've been considering it on and off since probably chapter three. But Tony would never be okay with pointing Bucky like a weapon, even if Bucky expressed an interest in killing Obie, and while Anthony is a lot more pragmatic about it (to the point of considering killing Obie himself), he's letting Tony call the shots, so no cigar. 
> 
> next time on 'the tonyXtony show:' pepper potts meets the largest headache of her life.


	6. anthony's intermission - ashes, ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Having open hands so close to his throat and chest should register as the worst kind of threat no matter who it is. It always has._
> 
> _It doesn't this time._
> 
> _It's hard to know what to make of that._

No one need to be Tony Stark to know that 'saving the world' wasn't exactly priority number one with the man at the moment - didn't even have to be  _ Rhodey. _ But if Tony had been under that particular mistaken impression, then the way the First Iteration of Tony Stark kept reaching out to fix the line of his coat would have been more than enough proof to the contrary. One liners would have suited his purposes just fine, probably. The hands are unnecessary. 

That would actually be Tony's fault, most likely. His First Iteration had been pretty focused on the idea when he first brought it up, but Tony had sidetracked him on a number of other things that are… kind of crucial. Better to be distracted now, rather than later when the situation is dicey and cards are going on the table. That's what had happened to he himself, after all. He'd been pretty focused on the whole 'alien invasion' aspect of life since the battle of New York City, but then? One thing after another had come up. Better, Tony had thought, to get all those fiddling details out of the way: the murder of his parents, the arc reactor, Iron Man, Obadiah, SHIELD - oh, and Tony still has the whole  _ Avengers _ thing to worry about. 

He's definitely not looking forward to  _ that. _ Cap is going to have to come out of the ice sooner rather than later, and if Tony can get his hands on the man before SHIELD does, all the better. 

Of course, his First Iteration had absorbed the information and immediately gone in a direction that Tony never expected. 

Tony shares a look with the sales associate, startling the poor girl and making her smile uncomfortably. He sympathizes. It can't be easy when Tony Stark waltzes into your place of business, pouts about the tailor being out but declines you calling him in, and then proceeds to seize control of the entire shop in order to dress the man practically identical to him - and then keeps putting his hands all over him like a five-time divorcee presenting her newest trophy boyfriend to her family. 

"What do you think, Sarah?" Tony's First Iteration asks, barely even looking at her while he holds a pale blue tie across Tony's chest, up high enough to contrast it against his face and eyes. "Too pale? Too gray?" The fact that he doesn't immediately love it strikes him, and he pulls it away and holds it out at Sarah the Sales Associate. "It's terrible, I hate it," he says briskly. He's disappointed under the suddenly blank expression, Tony can tell by the tilt of his head, how his lashes slash across his face with hooded annoyance. "Get me something brighter." 

"Ahh, brighter," Sarah echoes uncertainly, which means they definitely don't have the particular hue of blue that he's apparently looking for. 

"You'll have to special order that," Tony says, "from a shop that specializes in silk ties and hand dyeing. Jewel-tones aren't in fashion right now."

He's already been through this experience of trying to locate properly jewel-toned ties. For most of his career as Stark Industries' CEO, he simply hadn't been all that invested in the whole suit thing - had defaulted to any number of ties that Obadiah had bought him over the years. After Iron Man, his priorities had changed a bit. A rehaul had been slightly necessary. 

Tony's First Iteration doesn't really have that excuse because he hadn't been wearing a suit or tie since finding out. He has to wonder if this is the birth of some kind of bizarre coping mechanism - or if his First Iteration is just being an asshole by using his future self as a convenient, perfect mannequin. It isn't like Tony has anything against that, really - he's still trying to adjust to the past and all the rude surprises that he's found here. He'd really thought that he'd been creating a better world when he arrived in time to save Ho Yinsen. 

Instead he's thrown Tony Stark's life so off track that he's not sure there's any salvaging the situation, doesn't even know where to begin. 

"Do I have to bring everything into fashion myself?" his First Iteration mutters under his breath, toying with Tony's collar and the buttons under the guise of fixing them. He keeps doing that even though the jacket is sitting straight and comfortably on his shoulders. 

"You're going to screw up the lines," Tony chides, resisting the urge to grab and settle those restless hands. They should feel proprietary, he thinks, or worse. It's not like his First Iteration  _ hasn't _ stroked down the front of his chest like he's flattening the lapels when he's really trying to feel for the arc reactor. That particular venture had been given up after the third failure, and now he just seems distracted with the collar of the dress shirt under the sleek jacket. 

Having open hands so close to his throat and chest should register as the worst kind of threat no matter who it is. It always has. 

It doesn't this time. 

It's hard to know what to make of that. 

Tony casts an exhausted look toward the ceiling of the store. If he doesn't put an end to this, his First Iteration is going to be so emboldened that he's going to start grabbing Tony by the waist and hips. It's been going that direction ever since his First Iteration figured out that Tony wasn't going to break his hands for failing to keep them to himself. Although, technically, they're both 'himself' in a way. Or that's the argument that his First Iteration would make, given the whole name argument they'd had. 

"Socks," his First Iteration says, so he has the sense to realize he's toeing way too close to the end of Tony's patience. Pulling back, he snaps his fingers, trying to click onto whatever idea has come upon him. "Sales Associate Sarah. Show me the socks. If I can't have a tie, I need socks." 

Tony pinches his nose as his First Iteration disappears back into the clothes racks, chased by the anxious sales girl. He's not sure how to deal with the fact that his First Iteration seems to be hellbent on trying to claim him by any means necessary. It's been a long time since Tony felt that desperate, grabby 'I need it' urge that had so frustrated Pepper, especially toward a person, but that doesn't mean that he can't recognize it when he sees it happening. 

He can recognize just as easily why his First Iteration is beating a hasty retreat. Tony Stark is… kind of  _ a lot. _ They both know intimately that he's a lot. Most of the time he manages to mitigate the majority of it through a variety of coping mechanisms, but that only works so long as nothing really grabs his attention. If he thinks he's coming on strong, he overcorrects, and then gets accused of sending mixed signals and running hot and cold. 

Naturally, Tony has arrested a great deal - if not  _ all _ \- of his First Iteration's attention. 

The audible rattle of his First Iteration's indecisive thoughts fades and muffles as he and Sales Associate Sarah move away from the fitting area. Tony keeps expecting it to feel like a reprieve, but as always, it only allows his doubts to crowd in. Even the slightest hint of isolation begins to press in, to suffocate. He squeezes until his eyes tear up, straining to listen to the muffled, one-sided discussion that only pauses occasionally long enough to all the sales girl to offer a suggestion that is almost immediately ignored. 

"Come on," Tony goads himself under his breath. "You're afraid of being alone for even a second now?" 

_ Yes. _ Of course he is. Going to Yinsen had been a desperate, selfish move. Yinsen needed time to come to terms with what had happened to him in captivity. Tony understands. He's always done his best coping alone in the workshop. Until there hadn't been a workshop. Until what needed to be coped with affected millions, and not just Tony Stark. Until they all fell, crushed under- 

He swallows and opens his eyes to chase away fire and ash. His hands tremble. It's never just the left one anymore, because the nerve damage done to his left shoulder doesn't exist anymore. Instead, it's both, and this awful feeling of being lighter than air and filled with water. Fluid. Like he might spin away. Blow away into ash. 

It's much easier to keep his head when  his First Iteration is around to demand a great deal, if not all, of his attention. 

They  _ are _ the same person, more or less. More less than more. Similar people working off the same base programming, because while JARVIS and FRIDAY had shared the same base programming and functions, they weren't anything at all like each other. Which - he's the FRIDAY of that analogy, then, which - 

Tony winces, glancing sideways at the mirror that he's been avoiding - the same way he's been avoiding all mirrors since the hotel room, when he'd been standing over his First Iteration and made the mistake of actually  _ looking. _ If 'Tony Stark' is a brand, then his First Iteration is it to a 'T' whereas he himself - and that was when he first felt his touchstone for reality shift hard to the left. 

It was bound to happen sooner or later, he thinks, staring at the younger Tony Stark that reflects back at him from the mirror with old, exhausted eyes. It has the eerie cast of a prisoner peering out of a slotted window set in a door bolted shut from the outside. The reflection pales, unfamiliar, cornered and desperate as heat begins to flush through his body, building at a much higher level than is expected or desirable. His chest cinches tight, and squeezes lungs sodden with pools of blood, clogging his charred and flaking throat with an awful slurry of copper and iron and carbon ash. 

He swallows it back - the memory of it anyway. The delusion of it. Breathes painfully through the attack and grounds himself for the second time in too few days on the slightly muffled complaints of his First Iteration. 

It isn't that Extremis has made him look  _ youthful _ \- it's core coding was vain, but not  _ that _ vain - but all the signs of wear and tear and exhaustion have been peeled away from his skin. From his whole body, actually. No more achy shoulder, no more tremors in his hand, no more cracking knee joints, no more stiffness in his hips or spine. No more fragile rib cage. All of it gone. Every physical sign of what he'd lived through.

Extremis is the devil's deal in the end. It promise so much, but Tony watches reality continue to jar out of place. Slip. Separate. Who is-

"Here, let's try this one." 

He looks around to see his First Iteration approaching him with yet another tie - he's not going to give up on that, apparently - with Sarah the Sales Associate scrambling to follow. She has an arm full of socks that she's struggling not to drop. His First Iteration comes to a halt, holding out the tie in both hands, floating it a good six inches away from Tony's body. It's emerald green - warm, yellowish, but jewel-toned. It contrasts against the neutral silver suit jacket that he's been fighting to find a complimentary tie for…  whatever it is his First Iteration is trying to do. 

Tony's pretty sure he was right the first time, that his First Iteration is trying his hardest to put some kind of claim on him. It's the kind of selfish, self-absorbed thing that Tony used to do. Still does. 

Squinting at the mirror suddenly, months of training kick and he focuses on the clothes instead of his face. "Are you trying to put me in Slytherin colors," he says flatly, looking back at his First Iteration. 

"Really," his First Iteration says, nonplussed, "Harry Potter? Well. I guess there was time travel somewhere in there, although apparently not  _ real _ time travel, given-" he gestures to encompass all of everything. "Which is admittedly very ambitious of you." 

It's almost said as a matter of fact, but there's something there. Before him stands a man with overlong hair that twists into stubborn loops around his ears and admiration in his words, as if his desperate, clawing selfish efforts to stay alive are worth anything other than recriminations and disdain. Any Tony Stark should rebuke, should be  _ furious, _ should say:  _ and what about everyone else? What about the repercussions of what you've done? The energy release? The ripples? It's the very basic law of conservation of energy! _

He'd been prepared for that, waiting for it, the recrimination. Had been ready to say  _ well, obviously the world doesn't count as an isolated system, now does it. _ But it never came. It never - he's been going about this all wrong. His conclusions have been proven flawed, which means that his foundations are flawed. He should have fixed it days ago when Tony first refused Iron Man.

Something cracks, silent and unspoken. Like ice fields. Like glaciers. Tony -  _ he _ \- cracks. Deep inside, unseen, unheard. Something yawns wide open within: a pitch, endless empty black, and if he weren't so reconciled to freefall, it would suck him in and devour him whole. Instead he teeters above it on one sputtering repulsor, staring into the gaping void. 

'First Iteration' is only a way to avoid saying that this man that stands before him is the  _ original  _ Tony Stark. The truth of that is sudden and glaring. And with that piece of data in place, the rest flows as such: he's been approaching this all wrong when he falsely considered himself to be the  _ real _ Tony Stark.

Hubris, he acknowledges. He'd adjusted for the aggrandizing of successfully arriving in the past. He hadn't adjusted for his own faulty self-perceptions. He doesn't take it too badly - a person is the accumulations of their life events, and there aren't any known precedents for this. 

It's as simple as  _ if _ an event no longer exists,  _ then _ neither does the person that came of it. 

Plunging carelessly into the past as he has means that - his future: everything he fought for, everything he achieved, every mistake, every person and relationship that he did everything to protect? None of that exists anymore. It never has. Any evidence is long gone. All that's left is the memories inside his head and the people and things that once had the potential to become that for Tony Stark. 

Okay. And now what? 

"I have it on good authority that I'm a Gryffinpuff," he says, barely scraping a tone into the words that echo up from the bottomless  yawning void.

"They're combining houses now?" Tony Stark asks skeptically. He blinks, lowering the tie, disbelief mixing with reproach. "Is that what you're trying to do with the armor," he asks flatly. 

It's probably meant as a joke. "No," he says, "no. But I didn't want to confuse our brands. Mark III was supposed to be hot rod red. And gold. And the others-" Rhodey's War Machine. Now it doesn't really matter, does it? The thought of not having War Machine - but that depends on  _ if _ Rhodey comes around, and if he'll trust something built by someone who isn't his friend, Tony Stark. 

"Red and gold," Tony says dryly, quiet with resentment and regret, his gaze cast down and hidden. "Recklessness and Glory." His mouth twists unpleasantly, and he snorts. 

He remembers Tony and Rhodey having that conversation. Tony had begged for Ravenclaw, but Rhodey had him pinned for Gryffindor. Tony had accused him of Slytherin proclivities. Secretly, he thought Hufflepuff more likely. No one worked as hard as Rhodey, whatever anyone else thought of his connections to Stark Industries.

This is what being Vision must be like, he thinks, and well: Vision won't have to worry about it in this timeline. Tony Stark is too selfish to easily let JARVIS go. 

"Well, now it's Recklessness with Friends," he says dryly, which is enough to stir Tony out of whatever funk he's distracted with. Tony blinks at him, and he wonders if he ever looked at anyone with that particular open expression. Of course Tony would somehow get the idea that he doesn't need to shield himself from -  _ himself. _ As if he isn't his own worst enemy at times. 

"Right. The armors," he says. And well - he  _ hasn't _ told him about the Avengers yet, that's true. Tony holds the tie up again, but whatever it was he found appealing about it no longer counts, and he drops his arm and casts a baleful look at Sarah the Sales Associate, like it's  _ her _ fault he's less enamored with the tie suddenly. 

She looks like she dearly wishes  _ she _ had been the associate forced to guard the door so Tony Stark can shop for his body double in peace. 

"Give the poor girl a break and let JARVIS order the tie," he says, reaching out to catch Tony by the arm. "He'll have to order the extras anyway. You're pushing it already with the socks, Stark."

He plays at offended. "And of course you trust  _ JARVIS' _ fashion sense more than mine," he says, sulking. "Does JARVIS even  _ have _ a sense of fashion?" 

Not really, but he'd been able to analyze Tony's wardrobe over the years and the circumstances in which Tony wore certain clothes and his demeanor and was able to sufficiently randomize and send order requests through Pepper, who had more or less assumed that Tony had placed it through JARVIS. His own JARVIS had never had free will, exactly, but there had been a wide margin for predicting and supplementing for Tony's needs, based on the vast upgrades Tony installed in order to have JARVIS be his handler as Iron Man. 

JARVIS had always been complex. Self-aware. Capable of small acts of rebellion and deception as he pleased, so long as it didn't run up against the limitations set by his programing. Tony would not have been satisfied with anything less. The upgrades that he'd given JARVIS, though, had uplifted him from simple  _ AI _ and into something that Tony had cherished dearly. 

Yet it was the original Tony Stark, who with only minor provocation made it possible for JARVIS to freely act as he wished. To break laws, if he saw the necessity in that - and apparently crafting a background for Tony Stark's no-longer-future-self counted. 

"JARVIS is slightly more practical," he says. "Or mine was. Who knows after what you did to him. I already went through the silk and lace phase, I'm not doing that again." 

Tony manages to look breathtakingly insulted (entirely artifice, which unwinds the last dregs of tension out of him) before his brows shoot up and he does a double take and eyes him up. And alright, mentioning that was probably a poor decision on his part, made more on impulse than intentionally. 

"Don't look so intrigued," he says dryly.

"No, no, no, you have my attention now," Tony says bluntly. "I want to hear about this silk and lace phase." He glances at Sarah the Sales Associate, who is looking shocked and uncomfortable. "Later," he decides magnanimously. 

"Never," he corrects, as if he doesn't know that Tony isn't going to let that one go. 

It's not the first time he's lost everything. It probably won't be the last after what he's become. Which - that? That's a whole separate problem altogether; a personal problem. He'll worry about it if they survive Thanos. Maybe a world with a less damaged Tony Stark will be the one that actually succeeds - one less distracted, one less spread thin. 

Well. The kid had named himself star of the show. It's not like he's completely unfamiliar with playing support. Tony still has Stark Industries to run, and may never  _ not, _ and as for himself? He has nothing but time on his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anthony:** [has a severe psychological break, continues to quip and flirt like a champ]  
>  **Tony:** im so confused and turned on right now?   
>  \--  
>  **Anthony:** any reasonable tony stark would be screaming his head off about how irresponsible this all was  
>  **Anthony:** but no pepper? no rhodey?  
>  **Anthony:** why even live
> 
> people kept wanting anthony's pov even though it wasn't going to be nice or happy so there you have it. He's not enamored the way Tony is yet, but he's definitely blossoming some extreme co-dependency there. 
> 
> So this might have been a bit difficult to read given that Anthony starts off this scene thinking of himself as 'Tony' and Tony as his 'First Iteration' and then abruptly has an identity crisis and gives Tony the 'Tony' name in narrative and leaves himself without any name at all. Although I doubt I'll write another Anthony pov, enough time spent around JARVIS will have him eventually adopt the Anthony label himself. Expect Tony (and a few others) to still occasionally call Anthony 'Tony' in dialogue. His legal name won't be Anthony, but it'll only come up as relevant to the people who don't know who he really is. 
> 
> I've been struggling really hard to find the motivation to write, so sorry for the very short chapter.


	7. proof of purchace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm sorry, and you are?" Pepper says, bright and hostile, like the times she's unexpectedly come across his one-night-stands. She looks capable of peeling her own polite smile off her face and using it to gut Anthony right out._
> 
> _"He's me," Tony cuts in, because this whole thing is just hideously uncomfortable and going wrong left and right. "From the future. We probably should have lead with that."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for more unresolved romantic tension between tony and pepper, implied slut-shaming specially regarding STDs, and Anthony disassociating so hard the entire chapter it's amazing his body retained cohesion, and Tony's habit of "I've just met you and this is crazy, but I built you a lab so stay forever maybe?"

* * *

 

Out of habit, once the plane is landed and it's time to get off, Tony glances out the window of it at what _should_ be a mostly empty runway. At most he expects Happy to be there with a car, and he's right about that - there's Happy waiting with a car. Two cars. Two - what? And then Tony sees that how _that's_ happened is Pepper Potts. Before he even gets out of his seat, he sees her climb out of the more subdued of the two cars, stalking up to stand next to Happy. Tony groans and looks fruitlessly around the cabin of the jet. What a time to only be running on the skeleton crew due to the desperate nature of the flight to Canada in search of his future self.

"You sure we can't get back in the air?" he asks the attendant. He's been very nice to Tony despite everything. He gives Tony a kind of clueless, concerned smile, too accustomed to being in Tony's employment to freak out but definitely not familiar enough to let Tony's antics rolls off his back. Tony waves him off with a huff. "Never mind," he says. "I'll face the music. Awful music. I hate this song."

Rhodey would have said it was Aretha Frank's cover anthem, probably, because Rhodey has an awful sense of humor and no patience for Tony.

He still takes a moment to gather his defenses, straightening his back and shoulders despite how it makes his chest ache. Wait, no. If he's supposed to be in charge of saving the world, then he should carry himself _that_ way.

It takes Tony a split second to make the adjustments to his spine and posture and - oh. That relieves a lot of strain on his sternum. Alright then. That's fine - good even.

He exits the plane onto the Santa Monica tarmac and goes to face his fate. This resolution holds up until he gets within speaking distance of Happy and Pepper and then Tony blurts, "Did JARVIS tattle on me?" because he certainly hadn't meant to warn Pep ahead of time and hadn't alerted Happy either, because Tony is sometimes respectful of not making his people make difficult loyalty decisions.

Maybe mostly because he doesn't want to know what they'd chose, honestly.

"Well, someone had to," Pepper says. She's dressed in one of her darker suits, her hands clasped together just below her belt, her hair pulled up so that those cute little ringlets curl just beneath her ears. He resents them.

Looking to Happy, he says, "I don't know why he doesn't believe I won't put him in charge of a high school. Because I'll do it. He's tempting me." Happy smiles a little, but he's clearly not going to get himself in trouble by giving Tony an out, and Tony sighs loudly.

"We're just," Pepper says, doing a little shrug while she pauses, peeling her hands open for a brief moment, "worried about you, Tony."

"No, come on," he complains, slouching and giving her a reproachful look. "Don't guilt me like that. Don't. _Don't._ Don't do the face." It's not pity - Pepper has never given him _pity._ She only ever gets annoyed at him when he's being pathetic, which is part of the reason for the - the vibe, probably. But on some occasions, she'll give him this open concerned look and it makes him feel awful for whatever he's done to make her give him that look.

At last she takes pity on him and puts it away, blinking hard and tilting her head. "Obie's been looking for you," she says, and then as a cold wash goes through Tony, she holds up her hand. "He's worried about you, he says the Board is worried about you-"

Fuck the Board. "Is everyone alright?" he demands. "He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

Pepper blinks at him, surprised. "No," she says, a little appalled at the implications; Tony appreciates the way Happy comes to attention, confused but alert. "Of course he didn't _do_ anything. JARVIS wouldn't even let him inside the house, which - that's - Tony, that's very -"

"Good," Tony says, and startles the both of them and himself with how it comes out low and vicious. He ducks his head and ruffles his hand through his hair. It probably could have used a little gel to keep it from looking quite as much like a rat's nest, but.

"What's gotten into you?" Pepper asks, pulling back slightly. Next to her, Happy stirs uneasily, opening his mouth for a moment and giving her an uneasy look, as if he'd like to interrupt but isn't sure what to say.

Clenching his hands, he hesitates, trying to rein back the fear and anger. "Well, it would be easier to show you, back at the house," he says.

Pepper gives a twisty little smile that says she's at her wits end and only barely holding onto her professional dignity as his employee. It's the only reason why Tony ever gets away with anything. "Speaking of the house," she starts.

"Oh, are they here already?" Tony says blankly, although there's no reason why they shouldn't be. He just hadn't - ah. He hadn't thought this all the way through.

"The very next morning," Pepper confirms tightly.

Usually he would applaud that kind of go-getterism, as Tony is not exactly well known for his patience when he decides something. He can idle about for years over something _until_ he makes a decision, but once it's made? He'd take a sledgehammer to his own walls to get started if he thinks that's the fastest path to what he wants. At least this way he won't have to worry about locating one.

"Oh, boy," he says mildly, glancing about the airport. Everyone seems to have everything under control, the local team helping the crew get everything situated. He reaches out and grabs both Pepper and Happy by their shoulders, pushing lightly until they give way and let him herd them back toward the cars that Happy and Pepper drove out for him. "Okay, we - we might need to hurry. Um."

"Tony," Pepper says, alarmed, "what is this about?"

"You know, why don't you - why don't you just let me worry about it," he says. Happy, on the ball as usual, gets the passenger side of his escort car open. Before Tony can guide Pepper in, she turns and gives him a look that stops him in his tracks - that wide, imploring look. It provokes every last scrap of his vague understanding of responsibility, and it's rude, because they both know what happens when Tony tries to be responsible for anything and anyone; it's not pretty.

He gets the door shut on her, although he can already tell there's going to be hell to pay if she's not satisfied by his explanations. He looks across the top of the car at Happy, who had left the two of them to it and gone to the driver's side.

The - ah. The whole Anthony situation is going to complicate matters, he thinks. It's not _yet_ time to have a very candid conversation with Happy, but it's going to have to happen, or otherwise things might get ugly.

"Look," he says, leaning forward to extend his arm over the roof of the car, palm open, "just don't freak out."

Happy just kind of looks at him, which - he would. He's worked with Tony for _years,_ practically living out of each other's pockets even more than he and Pepper. Nothing Tony does has phased Happy in so long Tony thinks he might have forgotten what Happy looks like surprised. "Am I going to have a reason to freak out?" he asks, brow slightly quirked.

Normally Happy would scoff and say that _nothing_ freaks him out, which… just goes to show how badly Tony is handling this whole thing. In his defense, though, time travel, and _Anthony_ , who manages to have a silent panic attack in a high end suit store the moment Tony turns his back and plays the whole thing off like Tony couldn't see how pale and wild-eyed he was.

Tony opens his mouth, pauses, and shifts uncomfortably against the side of the car. The way he's extending his arm is uncomfortable, pressing the casing against his organs in a way that might be restricting blood flow from his heart. He isn't sure the feeling of impending doom is that or how he thinks Happy and Pepper will react when they see what he's been up to this entire time.

"I think," Tony says carefully, "that your first instinct will to be to freak out."

Happy considers that for a moment, then says, "Well, better let me stand between whatever it is and Miss Potts, then. She doesn't respond well to being startled and now she's a bit dangerous."

Tony leans back and peers down to get the full effect of Pepper's incredibly offended face, which she immediately turns on him. She shakes her head at Tony, refuting Happy's words, her eyes shocked and wide: _I would never!_

She absolutely would, Tony knows how she gets about things no matter how hard she plays at 'just a PA' at him. Pepper isn't 'just' anything, or she wouldn't have made it so long as the personal assistant of the Merchant of Death. Honestly, she's wasted as his assistant. He needs to figure out where he can promote her to - it's just, if he promotes her, neither of them will be entirely happy because they won't see each other as much.

Considering how things are going, that… might be the safest route for her, though. This is not going to be a happy talk.

"Please don't kung-fu action at - at my, ah, my body double," he tells her seriously through the shut window. "If you scare him off, then it's going to be your job to find him again this time."

" _Body double,_ " Pepper demands, reaching for the handle.

Tony pushes on the car door to keep it close. "Hey, could you trust me a little bit here?" he demands. They've already been screwing around too much, there's no telling what Anthony will get up to unsupervised with a _construction crew_ inside the house, and JARVIS. Tony had wanted it to be a surprise. It's just typical of his luck that he's managed to screw it up already.

Pepper subsides with an only partially hidden threatening look. She used to hide this side of herself from him more, but it's possible that he's not the only one that was badly affected by those three months in Afghanistan, and it's possible that his behavior since getting back hasn't been exactly reassuring either.

At least they're still willing to let him drive himself.

-o-

"Welcome home, Sir," JARVIS intones, which is - new. Tony would say that JARVIS is doing a great job of sounding warm when he greets him instead of just perfunctory, but he's reasonably sure that JARVIS actually means it. There's 'I'm glad you're back (because it satisfies certain behavioral equations)' and then there's 'I'm glad you're back (because I like you)'. It… sounds like the latter.

"I wasn't gone _that_ long," Tony says, peering around. He'd made it back home ahead of Happy and Pepper by virtue of being a reckless driver and not having precious cargo on board. He trusts that the handful of architectural engineers he's seen since getting into the house have been thoroughly vetted by JARVIS. He'd demanded as much when he'd ordered them. "Where is he?"

"Your bedroom, Sir."

Tony's brain stutters for a second. It _does_ make sense, though - there's no reason for the architects to enter his bedroom, and it's safely out of the way so they wouldn't hear anything, even though Tony doubts that they _would_ hear anything over the sound of them sinking in new anchors into the cliffside and hollowing out more space. He'd designed the house with expansion in mind, after all - just in case.

Contrary to any ill advised flights of fancy, Tony finds Anthony standing at one of the windows, using it to display his internet search into - really? Hammer? While another window displays the latest releases on bioengineering. He looks… incredible uncomfortable, stiff and drawn into himself as if one wrong move will turn the entire house into a bomb.

"Really," Tony says, glancing between the screens. "Why bioengineering?"

"Because people won't let sleeping super soldiers lie," Anthony says, glancing at him. "What's going on in the basement?"

"Well, this house isn't big enough for the both of us," he says. Anthony's tone is making him more anxious, even though he hadn't decided to treat the architects as a threat. Why would he treat the architects as a threat? He's - traumatized, not _crazy._ Maybe Tony's crazy. Only Anthony _used to be Tony,_ so that would - that would make them both crazy. Yay. "Why Hammer? Hammer's - pathetic. Cheap. I mean, he's _okay,_ " Tony amends, because honestly, their work wasn't all that bad. If Stark Industries wasn't in the market, then Hammer would be the market leader, but just because Hammer was a step ahead of the competitors didn't mean there wasn't a huge gap between Hammer products and _Stark_ products.

Stark Industries prices reflected that, too. And people would always try to cut corners. Well - and Tony didn't always take deals just because the money was good or technically clean. He just simply didn't like some companies' business models.

And well, since Tony was taking Stark Industries out of the weapons' manufacturing business, then that would leave all his previous deals to Hammer, probably. That smarmy little shit was about to get very rich.

"Hammer is overconfident and he's about to be overwhelmed with demand," Anthony says. "That lead to him making some … bad business decisions." Well, that's vague. Anthony glances at him like he heard the thoughts. "I'm keeping an eye on it. Dad's legacy is going to continue screwing us over. "

"Hip-hip hurray," Tony says dryly. A… a lot less bitterly than he would have at one point in time. He'd had no idea just how much of his bitterness toward Howard had stemmed from this mistaken impression that their deaths were _his_ fault. Or well, they still were, really. Who in their right mind transports highly desirable materials in the back of a personal car? But the largest burden of fault lies with the assholes who wanted it in the first place and didn't care how they got it. "Happy and Pepper are here," he adds, because it's not really the kind of discussion he wants to have, especially not after having promised the two of them that all would become clear.

The look that crosses Anthony's face is not a happy one, but it is resigned. The windows revert back to their privacy settings. "I don't even want to know what they'd think if you tried bringing them up," he says dryly, and yeah, awkward doesn't even begin to cover that.

"If I may, Sirs, the Viewing Room would be sufficiently out of the way for any discussions, and I can easily maintain your privacy as necessary," JARVIS says.

Tony isn't sure when, if ever, he's going to become accustomed to JARVIS taking the initiative. Respond appropriately in certain situations? Absolutely. Actually actively seek to provide solutions for problems? "You're going to make me lazy and codependent," Tony accuses in the general direction of the center of the room.

"I can hardly inflict qualities on you that you already possess."

Tony stares for a second, then cuts a look toward Anthony. "I didn't teach him to treat me like this. Did you teach him that?"

"You're the one that made him a criminal," Anthony says, completely unperturbed by the whole mess.

A strangled noise of offense is the only reply that Tony manages since a dozen replies crowd up in his throat until none escape.

"That doesn't accurately reflect the situation at hand, Anthony," JARVIS says. "Sir merely made it possible for me to become a criminal. Following through with those actions was my own decision."

Anthony seems to age ten years with one heavy, exhausted blink of the eye - not awful, heartbreaking years, but ones spent looking after small,  energetic, curious hellions. Tony's not even sure how he recognizes the difference. "Yes, we're all very proud of you, JARVIS," he says in a dry, humoring tone. "You, of your own accord, have chosen to break the law and endanger yourself if anyone digs too deeply into it - and they will."

"I'm certain that Sir would cover for me," JARVIS says.

Anthony levels a look at Tony: _see what you've done._

Oh god. It's not like Tony hasn't entertained himself by referring to himself as 'daddy' to JARVIS and Dummy and You before, but - this is different. _JARVIS_ is different. JARVIS has been his assistant for _years,_ sometimes standing in for Pepper as necessary to remind Tony to take breaks and drop by HQ and show up to interviews and everything else. Only he's not just that now - Tony has made JARVIS into a _dependent._

Tony opens his mouth, pauses, inhales, and then closes it before tilting his shoulders cockily. "Well, it's a bit like when JARVIS was newly implemented," he says, even though it's really not. "We're just - Buddy? JARVIS? Remind me to talk to you when I have a moment."

"I look forward to it, Sir."

"Congratulations," Anthony says like an asshole, as if he doesn't know what kind of panicky thoughts are going through Tony's head right now.

"Thanks. Congratulations, yourself. He's half yours," Tony shoots back, and feels a bit mollified by the perturbed look that crosses his face.

If Tony himself hadn't spent years masking his desire not to be places or be doing certain things, he probably would have been fooled by Anthony's poise as the two of them move toward the Viewing Room. He kind of wants to stop and offer Anthony an out, but - well. He remembers that moment in the bathroom of the hotel when he'd gone strange and sharp. Tony's always been so careful with his edges. He doesn't really want to think very hard about why Anthony isn't anymore.

Since offering Anthony an out isn't an option, Tony plants a bracing hand on his back, just below a shoulder blade. It's not unlike setting his hand on a live power converter working at a much higher capacity than it safely should be. None of the tension shows on Anthony's face, but Tony doesn't like the glassy cast his eyes have taken when he glances at him. He doesn't push.

After a moment, Anthony shrugs the tension out of his shoulders, stretches the rest of it out of his jaw, and moves into the room.

Pepper and Happy are too well socialized to be standing huddled by the window whispering to one another about how weird Tony is being, but that's still the impact Tony gets from the scene. Neither of them have sat in the chairs and have bothered to get comfortable. As a matter of fact, Happy has himself cornered at the edge of the windows so that he can cover both the entryway and the outside. Because of this, he's the one that sees the two of them first, and his attention is what draws Pepper's.

For one long intense second, it feels like one of the more awkward moments in the history of all awkward moments will ensue, and then Tony feels Anthony click into action under his hand. That's what it feels like, the sudden change in posture, the oddly familiar warm smile that stretches across his face but fails to reach his eyes no matter how much crinkling his crows feet do.

"Miss Potts, Mister Hogan," Anthony says, cool and even, "I understand you've had concerns, but-" He turns slightly, solicitously, to include Tony in on this gesture, "now that - Tony and I have talked things over, everything should proceed much more smoothly from here on out. You have my word that I will do my utmost to assure Tony's safety for the foreseeable future. Which will hopefully last more than ten years."

They all kind of stare at him for a moment, Tony no less than the others. He actually sounds responsible, is the frightening part of the matter. Reliable. It's awful and wrong.

"They're my employees, not my parents," Tony says incredulously.

The look that Anthony levels at him speaks loudly of how little he thinks of Tony saying that. And, admittedly, as their employer, Tony _does_ kind of have a responsibility not to go off and get himself killed without assuring their futures, but -

"I'm sorry, and you are?" Pepper says, bright and hostile, like the times she's unexpectedly come across his one-night-stands. She looks capable of peeling her own polite smile off her face and using it to gut Anthony right out.

"He's me," Tony cuts in, because this whole thing is just hideously uncomfortable and going wrong left and right. "From the future. We probably should have lead with that."

If looks could kill, Tony would be so dead right now. Right now, Pepper looks more angry than concerned, but that's there, too. And - yeah. Probably talking about his future time traveling self right after everyone already thinks that the Ten Rings broke him in some severe, psychological way - that's probably not the best line of action at the moment. It's not that he's not thankful to Anthony, because things - Tony knows that things are going in a much better fashion for him than they did for Anthony, but this is about to be really, really complicated.

"We can do fingerprint testing all you want, and dental impressions," Anthony says briskly. "No DNA, and thanks to some - procedures I've had, I no longer have matching breaks in my bones. But unless you'd like me to creep you out by telling you personal information that any sufficiently thorough stalker could collect, let's stick to fingerprints."

"Iris patterns," Tony suggests offhand, and Anthony nods with agreement.

"Okay," Pepper says, kind of brittle, "I'm sorry - could we," despite her polite tone, her face is stiff and sharp. She manages a cutthroat smile, the same one she's leveled at the worst kind of men who come sniffing around for Stark weaponry, the kind of men that smell like blood and abuses. Anthony doesn't so much as twitch, unmoved and untouchable. "Could we have a moment with Mr. Stark, please?" Pepper instructs on no uncertain terms.

The 'no' unravels and snaps out of Tony without his permission, abrupt but firm. Confident. Not sharp. He has no reason to be sharp with Pepper, even though his chest feels like it's hollowing out, caving in on itself. God, what's happening? He remembers telling Anthony not to be _weird_ at Pepper because he's in love with her, and Anthony remarking on discretion. Discretion is the worst. Anthony's wrist is uncomfortably hot against Tony's palm, even with the cuff of the jacket as a barrier.

"No," Tony says again, feeling vaguely lightheaded and coldly furious. "Anything you need to talk to me about, you can say in front of him. I'd just tell him later anyway. Or JARVIS. He's JARVIS' favorite at the moment, so."

"Tony," Pepper says tonelessly, and Happy tries harder than usual to melt into the background, shifting uncomfortably.

"It's fine," Anthony says calmly. Hot fingertips touch the back of Tony's hand where it wraps around Anthony's wrist.

It's _not_ fine. Tony knows how he would feel if Pepper were acting that way toward him, _Pepper,_ who calls him on his shit and won't be pushed around but has stuck with him through so much, through everything so far, soft and gentle and warm. Happy, at least, doesn't seem to be jumping to any conclusions, but he's always been more willing to follow Tony's lead, even if it's right off a cliff. Tony needs - he needs them not to act like this. Even if he gets why - it's sudden, and Tony probably should have tried walking them through it instead of just springing Anthony on them - this isn't helping.

And neither is Anthony's placid acceptance of the situation. _That_ is making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. Anthony should be bickering - would be bickering, if he had any intention on resolving things.

"Alright, _you_ give _us_ a moment," Tony says, barely glancing at Pepper and Happy as he releases his grip on Anthony's wrist and hustles him back to the entryway. He doesn't for an instant miss the wary way Anthony eyes the room, eyes darting toward the stairs that lead down to the workshop. "You know, this is a part of acting weird that I warned you about," he says, lying through his teeth.

The look Anthony gives him spells out clearly that he's never learned to believe himself. "If I had it my way, we never would have had to mix them up in this," he says. "But no. You wanted to pursue this whole 'body double' idea."

"Look," Tony says shortly, both hands coming up. He fists them uncertainly in the air, turning to face Anthony directly. "Look," he says again, and takes him by the shoulders in a light, easy grip. His biceps are like iron in the same way Tony's became over a month of toil over hot coals and a hammer, like he never figured out how to set the hammer down afterwards. Anthony reels a bit, eyes rolling and head tilting away the way an angsty teenager might, but he doesn't fight or tense out of the hold. "Let me talk to them, I'll sort everything out."

"You should have done that in the first place," Anthony says, tipping his head down to eye him grimly. He looks unhealthily pale, shadows bruising around his eyes.

"Please don't have another panic attack," Tony says, unaccountably anxious and receiving a glare for his efforts. "Everything is under control, I'm just going to -" He draws back and cuts a glance toward the viewing room again. "I'm going to smooth things over with Pepper and Happy. More Pepper than Happy."

"Sirs, if I may?" JARVIS says, startling Tony. If JARVIS proves to continue being this proactive, it's going to take some large adjustments on Tony's part; he's much more familiar with JARVIS' polite reactions rather than these interruptions. "Anthony, could you not simply show Miss Potts and Mister Hogan what you showed me?"

"Oh," Tony says, "the armor, of course. We should show them the-" One look at Anthony's face stops him. Anthony is comfortable with the armor, for all that he keeps it hidden while he's not inside it, tucked away some mysterious place - Tony's going to find out, or start accusing Anthony of using pocket spaces or mini-dimensions or something like that.

This is not a comfortable look. It's pale and bleak.

Some incredibly stupid impulse takes Tony over at that point because he doesn't want another episode of Anthony bolting off to have a panic attack somewhere again. Where would Anthony even go? The workshop is off limits and it's the only nearby place that Tony considers his own. Tony almost manages to do something as stupid as grabbing Anthony's face, if not for the sudden flinch that Anthony makes, like he senses the intention. Instead, Tony grabs his jacket, near the bottom where the pockets would be on a cheaper one. He tugs harshly downward to draw the suit tight around Anthony's shoulders.

"Okay, let's not," he says, even as Anthony blinks at him and actually manages to look the thirty-something years he seems to be. He turns his attention back to the room at large and says, "Okay, JARVIS? Let's not."

"Understood, Sir," JARVIS says. "My intent was not to cause distress."

"No, of course not," Tony says dryly, "you prefer to flash the access panels red and blaring and alarm and saying things like 'access denied' when you want to cause distress."

"That was an attempt to be discreet, Sir. In respect to your privacy."

"Sure it was." Although truthfully speaking, it had taken a long time for Pepper to become comfortable with the idea of an omnipresent AI in the house, so maybe Tony couldn't expect his flings to be comfortable with the idea for the few hours or weeks that they were around. "And what about the time you accused one of my delightful houseguests of having an STD?"

"I did no such thing," JARVIS objects. "There are any number of maladies that may be caused by viruses, it needn't be an STD." Although that was certainly the implication of the situation. "I was merely returning her concern for my own health."

"Uh-huh," he says doubtfully. "Just because someone accuses the house of having a computer virus doesn't mean they're accusing _you_ of having one, especially when they don't even know you exist because you're _shy,_ JARVIS."

"I hardly see the difference, Sir."

"Remember that talk we had about being respectful to my houseguests?"

"As if I could forget," JARVIS says sardonically. "My memory banks are as complete and structured as ever, Sir. I would remind you again that you never had her tested."

Tony sighs loudly, annoyed. He's pretty sure that JARVIS is just taking Pepper's side on the subject, which is simply unfair. It's not like JARVIS has the ability to understand what a healthy sexual appetite is, free will or no. It's not like Tony had made any promises and certainly didn't break any when he made those decisions. Well, the matter has been taken completely out of Tony's hands _now_ so there's no point in arguing about it.

"JARVIS," Anthony says, sounding strange and distracted. Even though Tony's fingers are aching a bit from how hard he's grasping the corners of his jacket and pulling on them, it surprises him that he's still holding on. "You can show them whatever seems - appropriate. That would help - ah. Pepper to understand the situation."

Tony blinks. After what JARVIS had said earlier, he'd figured out that Anthony had obviously uploaded some kind of files to him; he's not happy about it, especially since he had no idea when that happened, but it doesn't surprise him. It would explain some things, like why JARVIS had so quickly taken a shine to Anthony. But -

"You never showed _me_ anything," he says. He's glad to hear it sounds fine. He's pretty sure the hurt is well hidden.

Anthony finally looks at him, eyeing him knowingly. "You know I can't show you everything or we'd be right back where I started," he says.

Letting go of his jacket, Tony takes a step back. "Well, not about the _apocalypse,_ " he complains. "Not everything can be about the apocalypse." For a moment, his last scraps of good sense struggle against his hurt feelings, and he grudgingly amends, "although I suppose surprises are good. Wouldn't want to ruin things. Like a good surprise party. Can't give a genuine reaction if you figure it out before it happens."

Muttering something that sounds suspiciously like 'oh, come on' under his breath, Anthony holds up his hands in the space between them, like he's going to grasp a basketball. "Alright, here," he says testily. He gives both of them a sharp shake, and threads of light suddenly connect between them. Tony spends a stuttering second trying to determine their source before they arranged themselves into an image.

Tony's heart thumps against the casing. It's not like holograms are _new,_ but they're unfinished, unexplored. He'd always meant to delve into holography; he's had endless theoretical ideas over the years and none of the time necessary to bring the ideas to life. 'A useless gimmick' is what Stane and the board always said, anytime he brought it up. A hobby project, he'd thought, but it's not like Tony actually ever had time for hobbies. He'd thought that maybe Anthony had, or hoped he had, based on his comments about Yinsen's work. Proof, cradled between Anthony's hands, is something else entirely.

"Please don't make that noise at me," Anthony says, too mildly for him to have taken true offense; but if anyone would understand, it _would_ be him. "This was the Avengers' Compound." The slowly oscillating building shifts into a stylized 'A'. "We built it to house the team. I would - advise against it."

"The team?" Tony echoes. It sounds a bit breathless.

"Well," Anthony says, "you didn't think we were going to save the world alone, did you?"

Despite his words, there's something bitter and sarcastic in those words, and Tony looks up from the hologram to Anthony, distracted as he is with the image displayed by this own hologram. It's almost the same placid lack of expression that he wore when faced with Pepper's hostility, only this time aimed at a symbol that can't even attack him the way she had. Tony thinks he might have worn that same expression when the Ten Rings leader threatened him with 'until tomorrow.'

_So it's like that, huh._

"That is a neat trick," he says of the hologram, crossing one arm just above his ribs, curling the opposite hand over his mouth. Tracing the barely visible streams of light back to the creases in Anthony's fingers and palms, he adds, "You got pretty far in ten years."

Anthony collapses the image, dropping his hands. "Not quite," he says. "Interactive displays barely took us three months. Haptic were quick to follow."

"And displaying it from your hands without even a glove?" Tony asks wryly.

Anthony avoids his gaze, making an ambivalent gesture with his head. So probably not just his organs ran off the arc reactor, but - what? Prosthetics? That's some crazy advancement in prosthetics, given that Tony has had them against his skin and even grasped one with his own hands and never noticed that they were anything other than flesh and blood, but then -

"When did it happen?" he asks tightly, feeling something like ice cluster in his chest and along his spine. His _hands._ He doesn't even want to contemplate what losing his hands would be like. Jesus.

"Ah - well, unsurprisingly, time travel isn't a safe endeavor," Anthony says, pale and a bit wild about the eyes, "so it's unlikely to repeat itself."

Well, that's just perfect.

"Excuse me," JARVIS breaks in, "But I believe that Miss Potts and Mister Hogan have arrived at a solution to the problem at hand, no visuals aids necessary."

"Oh?" Tony says, less surprised and more intrigued. He could always count on Pepper and Happy to come up with clever ideas.

Rather than a reply, JARVIS summoned the two of them from the viewing room. Tony admires the united front his PA and his personal bodyguard present, even as he resents the tactic. He'd never used it himself, no matter how hard Stane had goaded him about it. Tony preferred Shock and Awe, personally - throwing people off gave a much more accurate read of their personalities than most other tactics, and while a united front could quickly sort bullshit from honest efforts, that wasn't nearly ever as useful as a accurate read on someone.

Next to him, Anthony shifts in place to mirror their positions.

None of the bewilderment Tony feels makes it to his face. Pepper nearly keeps her own poker face, but the sudden look at Happy gives her surprise away; for his part, Happy doesn't seem surprised or bothered at all, but he usually doesn't. He smiles, thin but polite, nothing dangerous or unfriendly about it.

Tipping his head respectfully toward Pepper he says, "if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Stark, but did you happen to tell this guy anything about the past or us?"

Tony blinks. "No - _oh._ " Now that Happy's asked that, he understands where this is going. "No," he says again. "Nothing after 1991, anyway."

The two of them glance at him; the year doesn't mean anything to Happy, at least not out of thin air, but Pepper's face shows recognition. If she hadn't figured out that this was the source of Tony's information about his parents, she does now.

"I see," she says clipped, drawing herself up and looking at Anthony like a particularly dangerous and unpleasant client. "You understand our concerns? And will answer a few questions for us."

It's not really a request.

"Of course," Anthony says, the same way Tony does anytime an ornery client demands a demonstration, as if Stark Industries doesn't always deliver exactly what they promise. So that's just spectacular. Tony could not be more pleased that Pepper and Anthony are treating one another like hostile potential business partners.

Happy is clearly equally pleased with it, given that he leans forward to interject himself. "I'll go first," he says, glancing at Pepper. That's his 'poison tester' look. As if Tony would ever allow Happy to eat something he thinks could possibly be poisoned. "Mister - ah," he pauses, glancing between Tony and Anthony; Anthony doesn't suggest an alternative name, hands clasped in front of his belt, and Tony grimaces a little, gesturing at him: _go ahead._ "The - ah, _other_ Mister Stark," Happy settles on, looking searchingly at him. "Do you remember the convention in 2003? In the spring."

Tony blinks but after a second, Anthony says, "I don't know that I'd call February in Upstate spring, but what about it?"

"Well," Happy says, "you remember what we talked about?"

Something unwinds a bit in Tony's chest, or loosens it's awful grip. At least Happy is willing to give it an honest try, instead of immediately treating Tony like he's being manipulated or pulling a joke or unhinged. And something like that, some minor detail that no one knew about would be the perfect test.

Anthony rolls his eyes and glances at Pepper before he says, "After the convention, it was Valentine's day, and I invited a handful of the hotel staff to my room with the _good_ room service and gave an impromptu lecture on fluid dynamics and chaos theory because one of the girls thought Jeff Goldblum playing a mathematician was hot."

That was not the story that had been delivered to the paps, though. Apparently a few of the girls had been disappointed that despite the alcohol, and the removal of some clothes, and several thousand dollars worth of room service, they had not gotten a chance to sleep with Tony Stark. Normally that would have been on the table and so not a problem, but Tony had been moping about not having a _real_ date for Valentine's day and feeling sad and sympathetic for Happy's lack of the same, and the hotel staff for working on the evening of Valentines day. The real story of that night had never really gotten out, and despite Tony feeling incredibly tired about hearing about the story from Stane - in turns mindlessly congratulatory and more earnestly reproachful for his failure to consider Stark Industries' image - it had barely been a blip on anyone's radar.

Happy eyes Anthony, then nods to himself. "Well," he says, "at least you're not from the _bad_ future, or you'd have an eyepatch or a - a scar on your face."

Anthony's face spasms into something that vaguely resembles a smile.

"Alright," Pepper says, eyeing the three of them warily before she lifts her chin at Anthony. "What about the day that you were going to fire me?"

There's a weird kind of silence that hangs in the air in response to that. "Sorry, what," Anthony says, easily as stunned as Tony. "Wh- when was this that I was supposed to fire you? I've never - never even come close to firing you."

Pepper's mouth flattens, and there's a kind of bitter triumph in her face, mixed with regret. "There, you see?" She says, looking at Tony. "I don't know how he got Happy's story right, but clearly there is something wrong here."

"Uh, Pep," Tony says carefully, "sweetheart. The guiding star in my sky. I - never - I don't recall any time when I was going to fire you."

She blinks. "Yes, you do," she says, glancing between the two of them. Confusion is giving way to suspicion. "You can't just take his side because you want to, Tony!"

"I'm not," he protests, stung. He wouldn't. He trusts Anthony with his life, if maybe not with Pepper and Happy, but he's not lying. "What are you talking about? I was never going to fire you!" Tony isn't even sure what it would take for him to consider firing Pepper. How would he live without her?

"The Russell Sykes deal," Pepper says. "I kicked him out of HQ because he wasn't on the itinerary I had and you were furious!"

It takes Tony a moment to remember what she's talking about, but to be fair, deals with other CEOs feel like seven lifetimes ago. It would have felt like that just after Afghanistan, let alone all this mess with his future self and the apocalypse. "Russell Sykes," he repeats, glancing at Anthony to see his confusion mirrored there.

Not just confusion in Anthony's case, though. His mouth is flattened, his eyes flickering slightly. "The propellant," he says at last, glancing at Tony. "More energy for less weight, or so it seemed."

"Oh," Tony says, remembering at last. The most aggravating part of designing missiles is always trying to balance the weight and propulsion systems. Usually when he can, he bounces his ideas off Rhodey given that Rhodey is a literal rocket scientist and Tony's passions lay more in robotics and AI. But Rhodey isn't always available to entertain Tony's flights of fancy, and poaching rocket scientists is easier said than done, mostly because very few of them want to work on missiles. So cutting deals with other companies when they have a good idea is pretty much the last avenue open to Tony unless he wants to put his projects on hold and do it himself - and he doesn't have _time_ for that.

"Oh," he says again, looking at Pepper. "Wait, what about that made you think I was going to _fire_ you?" If his voice peaks during that question, he should be excused. It's the height of insanity.

"You - you were furious!" Pepper exclaims, but her stance is weakening. She's as confused about this as Tony is, comparing her memory to the way Tony is reacting. "A lot of work had gone into getting Sykes in for the deal, and sending him away set it all back - you - you were going to fire me, but - Obadiah convinced you to give me another chance."

If there's more to the story, she doesn't say, pulling back slightly from whatever she sees on Tony's face. He flexes his jaw. "Did you know anything about this?" he asks Anthony, voice incredibly even.

"No. Never," he responds promptly, voice a perfect mirror. "She never said."

Tony grimaces, struggling to rein back the hot, sticky bubbling taking place behind his arc reactor, like it's emitting microwaves. He nods to himself, and then finally manages to gain control over himself, glancing at Anthony. Although he's certain that Anthony is equally furious - if not _more_ furious - there's nothing on his face that suggests 'Death, Destroyer of Worlds;' instead his expression is like polished, flawless chrome.

Pepper looks between the two of them, and then glances at Happy, and all of her belligerence is gone. She takes a breath and gathers her tattered professionalism, and says, "is this why you wanted Happy with me if I had to talk to Mister Stane?"

Tony doesn't miss the sudden shift in address. "Sort of," he says stiffly.

"Divide and conquer, of course," Anthony says clinically. "That would have been two and a half months before you invited Pepper to stay with you during busy weeks and gave her a room on the second level." It's the same level as the other two guest rooms, one of which Anthony borrowed that first night. Tony had those extras built in and converted when he realized he had very little interest in hosting people at sole sanctuary, but did desire to make his affection for the three whole people who were willing to tolerate him for long periods of time known. "Spin a story about how you're threatening her livelihood, then insert himself as a knight protecting it. Suddenly Pepper trusts you less, especially if you don't bring up your non-existent anger with her, and now she feels indebted to Stane."

The walk through is utterly unnecessary, except that it rekindles Tony's fury and shreds the faint notion that Stane had merely been working through his frustrations on Pepper in a comparatively harmless manner. After all, it had been _Stane_ who sought out and pursued the deal with Sykes. Tony hadn't really cared either way. The margin for improvement had been too minor to bother with, and not offset by the costs.

"I'll kill him," Tony says in the tone of one remarking about the weather, and in a completely unsurprising but ultimately satisfying turn of events, Anthony merely hums in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tony:** I've given my AI free will  
>  **Anthony:** you ruined a perfectly good AI is what you did. Look at our son. He's become a criminal.  
>  **JARVIS:** :D  
>  \--  
>  **Happy:** anyone else worried about not-Mr. Stark violently disassociating right here in front of everyone? Just me? ok  
>  \--  
>  **Anthony:** anyway the Avengers are a thing  
>  **Tony:** Number One Undesirables, shoot on sight. Got it. 
> 
>    
> Anthony just carelessly misleads Tony about the future, just, constantly. He only lost _one_ arm. He got better though. 
> 
> While I knew that Pepper was going to be slow to warm up to Anthony, I didn't quite expect this level of obvious hostility and suspicion, I thought she was going to be more subtle about it, but I also thought Tony was going to be smoother about the introductions. Tony was worried about having to compete with Anthony for Pepper but it's looking like it'll be Pepper and Anthony competing for Tony.  
> Given all of this by play, I'm reaffirming that my intention is still Tony/Tony and if all goes well, a Bucky sandwich.

**Author's Note:**

> and then on [tumblr](https://justavengeit.tumblr.com/)


End file.
